


adjournment

by lightyaers



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: 1960s, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Anxiety, Benny Watts is a snacc, Bisexuality, Chess, Daddy Issues, Death, Depression, Drinking, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, I don't know anything about chess so please bare with me, Love, Original Characters - Freeform, Period-Typical Sexism, Post-Series, Reader Needs a Hug, Reader-Insert, Sarcasm, Sexual Tension, She/Her Reader - Freeform, Slow Burn, Swearing, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 44,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27592196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightyaers/pseuds/lightyaers
Summary: “You’re his daughter.” Benny stated to himself.“Bingo.”“Do you play?” He asked, and you shot him a stare.“Bingo?” You replied, sarcastically. He smiled at the board, before tipping his hat and head upwards.“Chess.”Life wasn't easy growing up with a chess Grandmaster as a father; it's even more difficult when you find out you could be better than him at his own game.Benny helps you realise that potential.
Relationships: Benny Watts/Reader, Beth Harmon/Jolene, Reader & Beth Harmon
Comments: 179
Kudos: 466





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends! i know i just ended my 90k word peaky blinders fic, but now i've got a new obsession on the horizon, in the form of a smug ass cowboy wearing chess player by the name of benny goddamn watts. 
> 
> the queen's gambit is the best show i've seen in years and i wanted to tackle writing about something i literally know nothing about, which just so happens to include chess. 
> 
> all tw that apply to the show will also apply here, just as a heads up!
> 
> let's get this baby started.
> 
> enjoy x
> 
> PSA: i'm an idiot. if you're confused about matt and mike, i understand. i got them mixed up with benny's friends from NY. for the sake of this (and because i dont plan on including the twins in this) they're OC's. once again, i'm an idiot. i fell at the first hurdle and am 10k words down with no intention of changing every single name of theirs. whoops. im sorry lmao

You were twelve when you first saw Benny Watts in person. He was tall and lanky, sort of funny looking. He wore nothing but dark denim and khaki greens, always topped off with a worn cowboy hat, just to tie it altogether.

Your first thoughts were that he didn’t look like a chess player, he looked more like a rodeo clown. He was sixteen at that time, the beginnings of his, now full, moustache on his upper lip and smugness all over his face—

He’d just beaten Theodore Heckley, the US Open Champion from the previous year, 1955. Heckley was twenty-seven years old.

Benny’s win meant that he was up against your _father_ next.

Since you were three, you’d been dragged to your father’s chess games. Your mother was so proud, even if she didn’t fully understand the game; all she understood was the money in her pockets. Your family name was one that was known, respected, hated—maybe even worshipped—in the chess world—

He was a Grandmaster, one of the best, the brightest, most admired chess players the world had seen since Morphy and Alekhine—

But no one knew who the hell you were, other than your father’s daughter.

Your father’s daughter, who sits silently next to her mother at all his games—

Your father’s daughter, who puts up with having her questions answered for her—

Your father’s daughter, who “Doesn’t know much about chess, other than that’s what her Daddy plays,” your mother said to an interviewer, once. You were _fourteen_ then, you were stood next to her—

She was _wrong_.

But obviously, they didn’t know.

Your brain had a funny way of remembering things, especially when it came to chess games. The grid acted like a canvas of sorts, etching moves into different parts of your mind, parts that you’d never forget.

In your head, the pieces had stories. The Knights were noble warriors, sworn to protect King and Queen. The Bishops were prophets, speaking the word of some god out there; whether it was true or not, you didn’t know. The pawns were the bait—

There were there to be killed, or, if you were good, they would change the course of the entire kingdom.

You knew almost _everything_ that your father knew about chess—

_You’d just never played a game before._

Your father’s and Benny’s game lasted for six hours before an adjournment was called. You watched as Benny wrote down his next move and handed it to one of the game organisers, who folded it quickly and neatly into an envelope, and stuffed it in his inside pocket.

“Play will resume tomorrow, 0900 hours.”

That night, while your mother smoked cigarettes in the parlour with the other wives, you snuck into your father’s room. He didn’t hear you come in, too lost in thought as he slouched over a chess board, moving pieces around and writing down words on a notepad to his right.

You got closer, until you were behind his chair. You weren’t exactly trying to stay hidden, but you hadn’t announced yourself either.

You watched as your father moved his King Bishop to E6.

“Queen Knight to E6,” You said suddenly. You father practically jumped out of his skin.

“ _Jesus Christ_ , Y/N,” He said, peering down at you with a mixture of anger and surprise. “You should be in bed,”

“Mum went downstairs,” You said, your eyes still plastered on the board. “Queen Knight to E6,” You repeated, looking up at your father. “If you lose your second bishop, diagonals aren’t allowed.”

If your father was stunned in any way, he didn’t show it. He simply put down his pencil and stuck his hand out. You placed your hand in his own, following him as he lead you back to yours and your mother’s room.

The next day, your father won the game—

But it was close. _Very close_.

You watched as Benny shook his hand, acting so mature for a sixteen-year-old boy.

Then, you and your family left for home, back in England—

And you didn’t see Benny Watts for another eleven years.

****

** 1968 **

****

You stopped attending your father’s games after you turned seventeen. You refused to travel abroad with your parents now, too exhausted from the prodding and poking of the chess community. You wanted to be more than just _his daughter—_

His daughter who has no interest in chess, whatsoever.

Even if you’d wanted to play chess professionally, you knew that no one would look at you like you were your own person. Your father was too ingrained in their brains—

But now, age twenty-three, you were about to walk through the doors to Caesar’s Palace, Las Vegas—

To watch your father’s final tournament of chess—

_Ever._

You pulled your sunglasses off as you stood by your mother’s side. “They’ve renovated since 1958,” You said, taking in your surroundings. It was all gold and marble, all bright lights and extravagant statues.

“It’s a lot nicer than that hotel in Oregon,” Your mother said.

“Glad I didn’t come to that one,” You added, but you knew it was going to start a fight. Your mother’s neck almost snapped as she turned to face you.

“Drop the attitude. We’re here for your father,”

“We’re always here for dad,” You added fuel to the fire. Your mother was close to exploding.

“Maybe if you ever tried to be part of his world, you would understand how upsetting it is that he’s playing his final tournament, Y/N.”

“Oh no, I tried,” You spoke with a venom that had been set deep within you since you’d turned fifteen. “But there’s no space for a _girl_ here.”

You said that knowing what your mother was going to hit back with—

“Beth Harmon proved that wrong.” She said, straightening herself out. “If you’re here, you’re going to be present. You’re going to mingle, and smile, and be happy. I won’t have you ruining this for him.” With that, she walked towards the main foyer, where a group of players were congregating around your father already.

Beth Harmon—you knew of her, obviously.

World Champion, 1967, beating greats like Borgov, Luchenko—

_Watts._

She was unstoppable. People called her a modern Alekhine, with guts like Morphy, and style like, well, _Beth Harmon_.

You made your way into the main foyer, avoiding the huddle around your father. The atrium was huge, full to the brim with drinks, food, reporters and players. Chess tables lined the perimeter, with one in the centre, being the main events table.

You approached the table, running your fingers over the board. It was soft and smooth, the squares perfectly aligned, the pieces exquisitely sanded. You sat on the white side, staring down the black pieces, as if you were about to attack.

You’d never played a game of chess, in real life, that is—

But the constant game plays, the tournaments, the wins and losses by your father, you _knew_ how to play. You had a vendetta against the game itself—it was inherently sexist, despite Harmon’s triumph last year.

You’d seen how the game had torn your father to pieces, only for him to read another book, study another legend, and put himself back together again, before he lost his next game and the cycle continued.

The Sicilian Defence, The Reti Opening, The Queen’s Gambit—

You knew it all like the back of your hand.

“Fancy a game?” You shot your gaze upwards. “You a player?” Benny Watts had a smug smile on his face, the same one he’d worn eleven years ago.

He’d grown, taller and skinnier than he was to begin with. His moustache was fully grown. The same greens, blacks and greys made up his clothes, with the addition of chains and necklaces dangling from his frame. He donned silver rings and string bracelets, and of course—that fucking cowboy hat.

“Do I look like a player?” You asked. He let out a small chuckle.

“I try not to assume.”

“You trained Beth Harmon,” You stated. Benny sat opposite you, elbows on the table, knuckles under his chin.

“Who are you?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed, amused expression on his face. “I feel like I’ve seen you before,”

You let out a long breath, tapping a rook with your fingernails. “Jacksonville, 1956. You beat Heckley,” Benny sent you a quizzical look. “You _almost_ beat my father.”

Benny’s eyes widened.

“You’re L/N’s daughter.” You tipped the rook over on the board.

“Bingo.”

“Do you play?” He asked, and you shot him a stare.

“Bingo?” You replied, sarcastically. He smiled at the board, before tipping his hat and head upwards.

“Chess.”

You didn’t know what to reply. You didn’t simply want to say no, or yes. You didn’t want to give him an answer.

“I thought Beth Harmon would be here,” You changed the subject. Benny inhaled through his nose before he replied.

“She’s taking a year out.”

“She probably deserves it,” You added, and Benny’s eyes glazed over.

“Yes, she does.”

With that, you got up from the table.

“Nice to meet you— _properly_ , I mean,” Benny spoke up, turning in his chair to face you.

“Likewise.”

The next two days were the same. Games, wins, losses. Your father was on a winning streak; what a perfect way to end his career.

You mostly stuck around his table, what with your mother being about as vigilant as one of the chess players there. Sometimes, you’d drift around the room, grab a drink, watch a different game, see another sad sap get defeated by one of Benny’s offhand moves.

You arrived at Benny’s table just as he defeated a young boy from Italy. The boy stuck his hand out maturely, but you could see the grief behind his eyes. He left immediately, leaving Benny sat at the table, looking smug as ever.

“How does it feel crushing a thirteen-year-olds’ soul?” You piped up. Benny hit you with a smile.

“Fantastic.”

You leant on the table, overseeing the pieces and their positions. Your eyes flicked from piece to piece, imagining how the game had panned out in your head.

“Damn,” You let out. “He almost had you.”

Benny leant forward, that same furrowed expression on his face from the other day.

“So, you _do_ play?”

Before you could answer, applause broke out at your father’s table. Both of you turned to watch as his opponent stuck out his hand in defeat. Your father took it graciously, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket.

“I guess it’s me and him, then,” Benny stood.

You hardly heard him, as the cameras started flashing and the applause turned to cheers. Your father squinted a few times, covering his face with his hands—

You watched as his expression changed, getting more and more pained—

And that’s when your legs started _running_.

You yelled his name as he dropped to one knee, hand clutching his chest, right over his heart. You bombarded through reporters and players, falling to the floor as his head hit the ground. Your mother appeared by your side suddenly, gripping his hand until her knuckles turned white.

Noises around you turned into a ringing in your ears; your body felt fuzzy, like you wouldn’t be able to ever stand up again, seeing your father’s eyes almost pop out of his head as his body throbbed on the floor.

The last thing you remembered were the siren whirs of an ambulance, and glancing at the chess board—

Where the king lay dead.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i just wanted to post another chapter today to properly get the ball rolling. i doubt i'll be able to keep this up in the long run lmao. 
> 
> enjoy x

After the funeral, your mother went to stay with her sister, leaving you at the family house. You had your own place a drive away, but your lease was almost done anyway.

You had plans to go to university in New York City; you’d be leaving in just under a month. But instead of packing and planning, you were sorting through your father’s will.

He’d asked for certain people to be called and read what he’d written for them. You spent the days after the funeral calling up old chess players, friends, acquaintances, and reading your father’s last words to them—

It was _hellish._

It wasn’t something that a daughter should ever have to do, but still, you pushed on.

You couldn’t put this on your mother—she wouldn’t have been able to handle it in the slightest.

You sighed as you hung up yet another call, your emotional stability crumbling by the second. You only had one more phone call to make, but it was one you’d been dreading from the very beginning.

You quickly ran to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of red wine and uncorking it aggressively. You took a few large gulps, breathing heavily as you looked back at the phone, laid on the ground, surrounded by various papers and letters sprawled across the floor haphazardly.

You had no idea why your father specified to call, instead of just sending a letter. That would have certainly made your job easier—

But you were on the final one. Just _one_ more to go.

You sat on the carpet and picked up the note you were meant to recite. You read it through three times over, gulping at wine as you did so.

You inhaled deeply, before grabbing the phone and placing it between your shoulder and cheek and punching in the telephone number.

It dialled four times before he picked up.

“Yeah?”

“Benny,” You said, and the line went silent, nothing but white noise piercing your ears, until he finally spoke.

“Y/N, hi,” He said, but you could tell his heart had just dropped. “How are you? I mean—what a shit question, but—how are you?” You let out a shaky breath.

“I’ve been better,” You let out. You didn’t want to stall this. “Look, my father left something for you in his will.”

“Right, okay,” Benny said, trying to comprehend your words.

“I’m gonna read it out for you, okay?”

“Okay,” He replied, but you could tell he was frozen. You took another gulp of wine before you began, too anxious to have this over and done with.

“He added this a week after the tournament in Jacksonville, in 1956.”

Benny was silent. You pressed on.

“He writes to you, ‘Never before has a teenager made me fumble like that. Those seven hours of play was one of the greatest games of chess I’ve ever played. Thank you, Benny Watts. Don’t stop playing.’”

Benny stayed silent. You didn’t blame him at all.

As you breathed in and out, you felt your stomach begin to crawl up your throat. Your eyes began to water, your brow began to sweat. You tried desperately to stop yourself from letting out a cry, yell, wail—

But this was all too much, now.

“So, that’s it,” You said, quickly, determined not to break down. Benny didn’t speak for another minute, only when you asked for him. “Benny?”

“Yeah, I’m here,” You let out a relieved breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding. “ _Thank you_ —uh, I’m sure it hasn’t been fun doing this.”

“You could say that again.” You replied, your break down subsiding. The tension began to ease as you listened to Benny’s breaths on the other end of the line. You gulped down some more wine, feeling slightly tipsy after this entire ordeal.

Benny cleared his throat. “Look, if you’re ever in New York, Y/N, don’t be a stranger.” 

You could have told him you were moving to New York City in a month. You could have asked if he wanted to grab a coffee after you’d settled. You could have done anything other than what you actually replied.

“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

But you didn’t—

Benny was a chess player. Benny was part of your father’s world.

It was a world that had pained you for a while, but now?

_It was agonising._

You hung up the phone, sitting in silence as you tried to feel some sort of relief from getting all the calls done, but all that came to you was a numbness.

It floated through the air in the house, obscuring the chess books, the collection of boards in the sideboard by the dining table and any other semblance of your father. His photos, his suits, his toothbrush—

None of it felt real anymore.

You didn’t want to think of it as _real,_ because if you did, that would just cement what had actually happened—

Your father died of a heart attack, before he got to play his final game of professional chess, without knowing that, perhaps, you could one day have beaten him.

Instead, you allowed that numbness to flow throughout the house, into his belongings, his memories, his presence. You let it flow into your body, covering all your memories of him that were good, or hateful, or selfish—

And then you stood. And you drank.

And you forgot the last two weeks had ever happened.

-

It only settled in your mind that you’d be living in New York City when you first sat on the plane.

You’d been to America multiple times to see your father’s games, but this was different. You’d found a small apartment, close to your university. It was yours, and yours alone.

You were already thinking about how you were going to fill it with books, plants, good art. How you’d sit out on the fire escape and drink a coffee, or smoke a cigarette. How this was the beginning of something new; a clean slate.

You’d got a scholarship studying English Literature at Columbia for four years, and you were determined to do well—

You _had_ to do well. Otherwise, what was the point?

By the end of your first week, you started to feel more settled. The university was a maze to navigate at first, but as you got more familiar with its winding hallways, you felt more prepared. You’d even made a few friends from your classes.

“It’s Kayden’s twenty-third this weekend. We’re going to Monte’s,” Amanda, a girl from your class, said while you sat in the library. Kayden studied engineering; they’d gone to high school together.

Amanda was blonde and perfect, with round, gold rimmed glasses that sat atop her nose. She was sweet and loved to gossip.

“Monte’s?” You asked, folding the corner of your book page.

“It’s a club, on 47th Street. They do the best cocktails,” Amanda was practically grinning from ear to ear. “Wanna come? Your first night out in New York City, baby!” Amanda called everyone baby. It was something you were getting used to.

“I could use a fun night. Kayden won’t mind me coming along?”

“Not if you’re invited by me,” Amanda replied. “Besides, some of Kayden’s other friends are coming along. Everyone wants to meet you, anyway. We don’t get many Brits in our friend group,”

You couldn’t help but smile at that.

Since you’d landed in New York City, every cab driver or store clerk you’d spoken to had all commented upon your accent. It was charming, sometimes annoying, but mostly a bit of fun.

You were excited to finally be relaxing. Moving had been exhausting, and the weeks before that had been even more so. Some part of you felt guilty for leaving your mother behind, but she insisted you still go.

When you looked around places in New York City, you _didn’t_ get hit with small memories of your father, or constantly bombarded by the image of his face in your mind. It wasn’t like back home; it was somewhere free to explore, to grow—

To move on.

To _forget_ , in peace.

That’s what was going through your mind when you got off the Subway at 47th Street that Saturday, arm in arm with Amanda.

She wore a pink pinafore over a striped jumper. Large earrings dangled from her lobes and her shoes clicked on the floor every time she took a step. This was a world you’d never known until now, and when you looked at your own outfit you felt underdressed, wearing only black denim jeans and a random off-the-shoulder top that you’d found while unpacking.

Amanda chatted all the way to Monte’s, her purse swinging by her side along with her gleeful strides. There was a line outside the club, but Amanda dragged you right to the front, teeth shining beneath her lipstick as she smiled at the bouncer.

He let you in immediately, smiling back at Amanda as dragged you inside.

You laughed to yourself as Amanda let you go, rushing towards Kayden’s table. You took a breath as your eyes soaked up the club—it was all bright lights and beer mats, a full disco-style dance floor was down a flight of stairs. The bar was up top, with bar tenders pouring more pints and shots than you’d ever seen.

Being raised in a family where chess was everything didn’t leave you with many opportunities to get, well— _drunk_. Since you’d moved out when you were twenty-one, you’d done nothing but study and work. And before that, your mother had a constant watchful eye over you—

The feeling that washed over you as the lights shone and the music boomed was something you’d never felt before—

Freedom.

Pure and unadulterated freedom.

Away from chess, away from England, away from people who only knew you as _your father’s daughter._

“Y/N!” You turned at the sound of Amanda’s voice, rushing toward her and the others at the table. “Everyone, this is my British friend. She’s never had a night out in New York City, so we have to show her a good time!” You accepted everyone’s greetings, despite feeling slightly awkward. You got shoved into the booth, next to one of the boys.

“I’m Matt—friends with Kayden,” He shouted over the music, offering his hand for you to shake. You took it and smiled. He had shoulder length hair and an intellectual, unbothered look about him.

Matt moved his gaze to above your head suddenly. “Benny, this is Amanda’s friend,”

You froze as someone took the booth seat next to you, too afraid to turn around and it be _him._ It couldn’t be—surely? New York City was huge; it would have had to be a massive coincidence for _Benny Watts_ to have mutual friends with you already.

You forced yourself to turn around, meeting his eye—

Benny Watts sent you a classic quizzical look. He furrowed his brows like they were about to fall off. “Hey...” He said, and you didn’t know what to respond without sounding like an asshole.

“You guys know each other?” Matt chimed in, and you bit your lip.

_God, I’m a fucking asshole._

“Yeah,” You turned to the table, not placing your eyes on either of them. “I know Benny from chess tournaments.”

“Chess?” Kayden piped up, shouting over the rest of the conversations round the table. “You play chess, Y/N?” When you didn’t answer immediately, Benny spoke up, taking his hat off and placing it on the table. He combed his fingers through his hair.

“Y/N is a spectator. We bumped into each other a few times. I know her father.” Benny let out a long breath after he said the word “know”.

He _knows_ your father—

No. He _knew_ him.

You tried to keep your voice steady as you swallowed down a sudden sick feeling.

“Grandmaster L/N.” You saw Matt and Kayden’s faces drop as you said his name. There was a sort of sullen silence that fluttered over the table, between the four of you. The others sat, waiting, for anyone to add or change the subject.

“What’s a Grandmaster?” Amanda said, her eyes sparkling in innocence as they hit yours. You took in a breath and sent her a smile, not sure if you could even string a sentence together yet.

“You get awarded a Grandmaster title for extraordinary plays of chess in a small amount of time.” Benny chimed in. “It’s a title higher than World Champion. L/N got it in 1940. He was 33 years old.”

Amanda eye’s widened. “Wow—he must be, like, _amazing_ at chess.”

You were waiting to see if any of them were going to say it—if any of them were going to tell her he’d dropped dead, not even two months before. When no one did, you forced yourself to speak.

“Yes. Amazing,” You replied, trying your best not to be rude. She didn’t know, it wasn’t her fault. “I’m gonna have a smoke in the fresh air.” You added, and Benny got up from the booth to let you out.

You started walking away, when Benny grabbed your arm.

“Hey—,” You turned to him, trying not to frown. “Let me get you a drink.”

“Surprise me,” You replied quickly, before heading outside without so much as a backwards glance at the table.

You tried to ignore the way your throat was closing up, or the way you could feel your heart beating through your entire body. You focused on plucking a cigarette from your tote bag and lighting it without your hands shaking—

You breathed in, one, two, three—

You breathed out, one, two, three—

You wouldn’t cry.

You would forget.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've written four chapters of this in like a day.... ummmm ok?
> 
> thanks for the kudos, hits and bookmarks so far!!
> 
> enjoy x

“You live here?” You said, Amanda clutching onto your arm and swaying back and forth slightly. She was wearing Benny’s hat and giggling like a schoolgirl.

After a night in Monte’s, Benny opened his place up for afters for everybody. You were all stood outside a town house in lower Manhattan. It was impressive.

Benny only chuckled. “No—I live _here,_ ” He pointed to the floor, where just visible was a small door to the basement. You grimaced, and Matt laughed at your expression.

“Everyone reacts the same way to seeing Benny’s place. Beth did it too. She told me she thought Benny was about to kidnap her,”

“But it that sense, he actually _did_ kidnap her, for five whole weeks,” Kayden chimed in.

Benny finally got the door open. He looked back, flicking his hair out of his eyes. “Stop spreading misinformation!” He sent a smile your way. “They’re a bunch of lying assholes, Y/N.”

You sent him a smirk. “Innocent until proven guilty.”

You all followed Benny inside. You plopped Amanda on a collection of cushions in the corner of the main room; she was content with laughing to herself about the fact she had a cowboy hat on.

“Boys, lady, drinks?” Benny said from the fridge. He shut the door with an armful of beers. He tossed a can one by one to Kayden and Matt, then held the last one in the air, stare on you. You nodded, and he threw it right at you—you caught it with one hand and opened it with the other.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t paying attention to the way Benny looked at you while you did it.

Benny joined the boys while you made your way around the room, checking out the various books, vinyl records and posters Benny had. On a table to the side sat a copy of _Chess Review_ with his face on the cover. You picked it up with an amused expression and turned to him.

“Something to boost your ego when you feel down?” Matt and Kayden snickered at his expense. Benny only stood up and took the magazine from you, annoyed smile on his face.

“What? I’m not allowed to be proud of the things I do?” He sat down again and started flicking through the pages. “This interview was the best one I’ve done—,”

“I know,” You interrupted, while you sat down on the concrete floor and crossed your legs. “I read it,” You gulped down some beer, not expecting to see the expression that Benny was giving you.

He looked positively stunned, like you’d simultaneously impaled him and given him a kiss on the cheek. “I thought you didn’t play chess?”

“You don’t play?” Matt added.

You let out a sigh, thankful for the alcohol in your system. It made it easier to think about chess and separate it from _him._

“I’ve never played a game, no.” You replied. “But I’ve read practically every book and magazine about chess in my family home,” That slapped a grin on Benny’s face.

“You’ve read _my_ book?”

“When are you gonna _shut up_ about your book, man?” Kayden said, downing half his beer can, Matt laughing at his side.

“Yes, I read your fucking book,” You chuckled out.

“But you’ve _never_ played?” Kayden said. You were getting tired of it at this point.

“ _No_ —Jesus, I’ve never played. Why does that seem to stun you all?”

They all went silent as they thought of their responses. You knew they were about to mention your father. You felt drunk enough to be able to act like he was alive— _pretend_ , just for now, that he wasn’t buried six feet beneath the ground.

“You’re gonna ask why, with a father like _him_ , I’ve never played one single game, right?” Their silence revealed the answer; yes. You took a gulp of beer, licking your lips afterwards. “Until Beth Harmon came along, I never thought a woman could actually be a chess player. Not to mention _I hated_ the way I was spoken to at tournaments, even as a little girl,” Their faces were in deep thought as they listened intently. “Look—I _know_ how to play chess. I could do it with my eyes closed. But with him, my _dad_ , how the hell would I ever have been able to play chess next to the likes of him?”

They still didn’t speak, too afraid to cross a line. You sighed again.

“The only time I haven’t felt out of place at a tournament was, well—Las Vegas, a month and a half ago.” Benny was the first to meet your eye at that. “I guess I owe that to you, Benny,” You gulped down the rest of your beer, not wanting to feel his stare on you after your words.

“Well— do you want to play?”

Your heart immediately dropped to your stomach. You watched in silence as Benny, excited smile on his face, grabbed a chess board from his room. He laid it out on the floor as your pulse accelerated, almost to the point of eating your insides.

You looked up at him, fear washed all over your face.

“One game,” He said, raising one finger to the sky. “Speed chess. It’s over faster,” Kayden jabbed Benny in the side.

“No, it’s ‘cause you’re _better_ at speed chess than normal,”

“I—,” You stuttered. You looked at Matt and Kayden for any kind of support, but they seemed to want you to play as well. “I don’t know,” Your voice trailed off.

“You _know_ you can play. You’ve seen this a thousand times, read about it in hundreds of books. You just have to _play._ ”

You wanted to yell at him, scream in his face, but you were too focused on the board. The way it glistened in the drab basement light, the way all three of them were staring at you in anticipation—

_You_ wanted _to play._

You just didn’t know if you were any good in _practice._

It was daunting, being face to face with a chess board and a champion. It was daunting, thinking about how much you’d revealed about your chess knowledge—

But you _wanted_ to play.

For the first time, perhaps in your life, you wanted to play a game of chess.

“I need another beer first,” You said, and Benny jumped up from his seat, practically skipping to the fridge to grab you one.

“Heads up!” He yelled, as he threw a beer above your head. You caught it without moving your gaze from the board, immediately popping the top and taking four large gulps.

He sat back down, crossing his legs with excitement.

You stared at the board, the clock, the pieces, the story coming to life in your mind. You knew that Benny was good at speed chess; his book had told you so.

“Shall we place bets?” Benny said, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s not fair. It’s her first game,” Kayden said, his green eyes piercing yours for just a second. He had a kind face. “Just let her get used to it first,” That got Benny to back down, and he readied himself to start the clock for you.

He placed his hand over the clock starter, eyes peering into yours.

“Ready?”

You took in a deep breath, closing your eyes for a second. When you opened them, you smiled.

“As I’ll ever be.”

The next two minutes went by in a matter of seconds—

Pawn to C4—

Pawn to C5—

Knight to F3—

Knight to H6—

All the while, you clicked that clock after every move like your life depended on it.

You imagined the story—the Queen, who would sacrifice herself for her King and be brought back from the dead by a stable boy. The knight who sought wisdom from the prophet and ended up lost. The castle that had stood the test of time, finally crumbling to the ground—

A move, the clock, a move, the clock—

Benny’s hair fell in front of his eyes after his second move, too encased to move it out of the way.

Kayden and Matt were practically holding their breath, and Amanda was starting to drift off to sleep in the corner, hat over her eyes and drool on her chin.

It felt like you hadn’t taken a breath in so long, until you finally released one, when the game was over and done—

When the clocks had stopped ticking—

When Benny finally raised his eyes to meet yours—

When you’d _won._

When it had cemented in your mind that you _had done this,_ that you had beaten Benny Watts—a World Champion player—in the first game of chess you’d ever played—

Your body _ejected_ the contents of your stomach.

You didn’t have time to celebrate before you were running to Benny’s tiny, grotty bathroom and slammed the door shut, throwing up your guts, either for drinking _way_ too much, or for playing the game—

Either way, it didn’t feel good.

You didn’t know how long you were in the bathroom for, until a timid knock came from the door. “I’m coming in,” Benny said through the blurred glass, before he opened up the door to reveal you curled on the floor, head leaning on the wall next to the toilet—

_How embarrassing._

You didn’t even feel drunk anymore—you felt _exhausted._ It made it seem like you vomited because of the game, not the booze, which just made your family name even more of a burden.

Benny knelt down to your level, a small smile on his face. “Come on,” He said, slinking one arm around your torso and pulling you up to a standing position.

“I’m okay,” You said, but even you knew you were lying.

“You just played your first game of chess and threw up,” Benny said, his smile getting wider by the second. You were close to laughing, too.

“At least I won,” You added, and Benny’s smile somewhat faded.

“Yeah, you did win,” Benny gently dropped you to floor, on the collection of cushions in the corner. You looked around, wondering where everyone else was. “Matt and Kayden took Amanda home—she was _pissed_. _You_ , on the other, hand—,” He paused, handing you a glass of water from the coffee table. “I think you had an anxious reaction to the game.”

You sipped at the water. “How do you know I’m not just a lightweight?” Benny sat next to you, crossing his legs and grabbing his beer.

“The way you caught and opened those beers, that’s how I know.” He took a gulp, eyes facing forward, as if he was remembering you doing it.

“Wasn’t much time for me to drink outside the house,” You said, unsure of where it came from. “My roommate would always throw me drinks like that. It became a challenge. I guess I got good at it,” You sipped at your water, starting to feel warmer after leaving the cold bathroom floor. You glanced at Benny, still looking at the wall. “I’m sorry,” You said, and his eyes met yours. “For winning.”

Benny leant towards you, a harsh expression on his face. “ _Never_ apologise for winning,” His eyes didn’t leave yours; it was unsettling. “It’s an offensive thing to do. It makes it seem like you don’t care about winning—like it wasn’t an achievement you deserved.”

Guilt washed over you. “I’m sorry—for saying sorry.”

Benny let out a soft chuckle, finishing his beer. You downed the rest of your water, feeling infinitely better, with the anxiety subsiding and the alcohol having been throw up from your system. You glanced at the chessboard clock—it was late.

“I should go,” You said, getting up slowly and stretching your arms. Benny jumped up as well, heading for the phone.

“I’ll call you a cab,”

“It’s okay, I live five blocks away.” You replied, grabbing your tote bag and checking that you had everything.

“I’ll walk with you.”

Neither of you spoke on the walk to your apartment block. You had nothing to say—or you were simply too tired. You got the sense Benny didn’t want to start a conversation after all that had happened, for your sake, and maybe for his own, as well.

You stopped outside the entrance to your building, turning to Benny awkwardly. This was the longest you’d been alone with the champion—a champion that you’d just beat at his specialty on your first try.

“Tonight was fun,” He said, and a sudden wave of anxiety hit your stomach as he readied himself to turn and walk away.

“I’m sorry for not telling you I was moving to New York,” You let out suddenly. Benny let out a sigh. “I felt like a dick when I first saw you at Monte’s.”

“Yeah— _kind_ of a dick move,” He replied, but he was smiling as he took a step closer toward you. “You have nothing to apologise for, Y/N. I was stupid to say it and think that you’d wanna be around someone from that side of life, at least right now.”

“Evidently, you weren’t stupid about that,” You said truthfully, letting out a sigh. “The last thing I thought I’d be doing here was playing chess,”

Benny smiled thoughtfully, and the feeling in your gut dissipated. “You’re _good_ , Y/N. Really good,”

You sent him a sarcastic smile. “’Cause I beat you, right?”

“Not just that you beat me, but _yes,_ also that,” He took in a deep breath. “The way you moved the pieces, like you already knew where they were supposed to go. The way none of my moves phased you whatsoever,” He paused, thinking on his words carefully. “You don’t play like your father. You play like someone I’ve never seen before. You play like _you._ ”

_You play like you._

Those four words were enough to make your throat close up and your eyes start to sting. You swallowed to halt it happening, trying to keep your expression soft. “I’ll see you around, Benny Watts.”

“Yes, you will.” He replied, his soft smile turning into something deeper as he stepped backward, then turned and left.

You started the ascent to your apartment, feet scuffing the stairs all the way to the 6th floor—

Smile on your face the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know the current readers for this fandom are sparse, but if any of you can comment below just so i know you're here, that would be really cool and definitely make my day. tell me things you like! things you want to happen! tell me if this isn't just a waste of time lol


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to reiterate from what i added at the front chapter of this fic-- i mixed up Matt and Mike with Benny's friends from NY, forgetting that they're actually the twins from Beth's high school. for the sake of the fact i dont plan on adding the twins into this, Matt and Mike are ocs! im sorry, im dumb. for real. 
> 
> anyway-
> 
> enjoy x

It was easy to feel elated and happy in the weeks after the game. It was easy to go about your days, to and from university, making coffee in the morning, reading a book in the afternoon, writing up a paper in the early hours—

You hadn’t felt this fulfilled in years.

You could finally think and talk about chess without feeling sick, or getting flashbacks to your father’s games. You’d even started reading new chess books.

You frequented Monte’s most weekends now, always going with Amanda or some of her other friends from Columbia. Occasionally, Benny and some others would arrive as well, though they never sat with your group anymore. The most you’d see Benny on a night out was at the bar, when both of you went to order another round for your tables.

You had a feeling Benny wasn’t rushing to introduce you to the people he knew, and that it was all entirely for your sake—

You couldn’t deny that it made you feel cast out in some instances. He hardly said more than a ‘hello’ when he saw you in the club, anymore.

In truth, your skin was itching for another game. You were itching to _play,_ and to play against _him._

But while there was that side of you that was screaming to play, there was an opposite side that was crying for you to stop. You’d gone back on everything you’d ever thought, every feeling of animosity, pain, hurt, from the chess world, from what happened to your father—

Just to play a stupid game with wooden pieces and black and white squares.

Nevertheless, there was one night at Monte’s, almost a month after you’d played him, where you felt something snap. You were sat with Kayden while Amanda danced on the disco floor with another friend from university, and you couldn’t take your eyes off Benny’s stupid hat.

You tapped your glass restlessly. “What do you reckon they’re talking about?” You said, and Kayden eyed the way you stared at their table.

“Jealous?” He said. You shot him a disapproving glare, before you bit down on the straw from your drink.

“ _Far_ from it. I just want to know what they huddle up and talk about every week, without so much as a greeting to us,” The huddle in question: Benny, Matt and another man you’d never met before.

“They come here often, even before you arrived. Sometimes I join them,” Kayden said nonchalantly.

“Then why don’t we go over there and say hello?” You offered, and Kayden’s eyes flashed.

“You and I both know they’re talking about chess. They’re probably talking about _you._ ” But you were already grabbing his arm and pulling him to standing.

“All the more reason to say hi,”

“Y/N—,” He let out, before you gave a large tug on his sleeve, forcing him in front of you. The two of you walked to Benny’s table, Kayden’s uneasiness slowly fading to playfulness as he leant on their table and stole a shot from in front of Matt.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Benny said jokingly, grabbing Kayden’s collar and shoving him round to sit next to Matt. His eyes flashed when they hit yours. “Y/N, come join us,” You took the other seat next to Matt, right opposite Benny and the other boy you didn’t know. “This is Mike—Mike, Y/N—Y/N, Mike,”

You stuck out your hand and shook his, smiling sweetly.

“Benny tells me you beat him at speed chess,” Mike said, and you were taken off-guard. You tried not to sound smug when you replied, despite how smug you _felt._

“Did he tell you I threw up afterwards?” The tension on the table melted with your words, as Matt and Kayden laughed to themselves, reminiscing.

“An honest reaction from _anyone_ going up against me, obviously,” Benny joked, finishing his beer. Chuckles surrounded the table, and you had no idea why you’d got so pressed about them before—you’d had a strange feeling of the avoidance Benny was giving off, but you had to realise it was probably off signals _you’d_ put out.

He got up, pointing at the empty glasses, before he pointed at you. “Drink?”

“Do I even have to answer?” You said, watching his face transform into a boyish grin.

You watched as he walked towards the bar, his demeaner changing completely from the way he’d acted around the table. Sometimes you forgot that Benny was twenty-seven, almost twenty-eight. He had a young face, despite his fuzzy moustache and the entire cowboy get up. He was smug and egotistical, which was definitely annoying to his opponents, but the more you got to know him, the more that behaviour became part of his charm and personality.

The last person you’d expected to ever become _friends_ with was Benny fucking Watts.

“Be honest,” Mike began, turning to you. “You’re fucking chuffed about beating him, aren’t you?”

“You should have seen it,” Matt added, sending you a gentle expression. “It was like modern dance.”

“Maybe you’ll see the next game,” You said, just as Benny came back with a tray of pints.

“Next game?” All eyes flicked to him, apart from his own, that were glued to you. You watched his lip twitch, a smile trying to force its way through.

“Next game,” You repeated, smiling as you grabbed a pint.

The rest of the night was giggles and booze, dancing and cigarettes. It was one of the best nights you’d had in New York to date. You were finally starting to feel like you, perhaps, _belonged._ It was a feeling you hadn’t felt in your family home, or even in your shared apartment back in England.

It was a feeling you welcomed.

“You surprised me today,” Benny said, walking you back to your place after Monte’s.

“I have a habit of that,” You joked, exhaling smoke and flicking your cigarette to the floor.

“When you said there would be another game, I wasn’t expecting it this fast,” He said, head tilting to the sky. “To be honest, I was trying not to crowd you after your win.”

You let out a sigh in understanding. “That’s why you were acting distant,” You said. “I noticed it.”

“Yeah—sorry. I just—,” He paused, thinking through his words. “I wanted _you_ to have that urge to play. I didn’t want to pressure you to play the game if you weren’t comfortable.” You didn’t reply, a feeling of appreciation floating over you. “But I can see that urge now, that _craving_ to sit at a board and play.” He moved his gaze to you. “It suits you.”

You tried not to let the way he’d said that get to your head.

“I’ve been reading chess books again,” You admitted. “I can’t stop thinking about it.” If Benny was trying to play down his happiness, he didn’t show. He was practically beaming to himself as you spoke.

“I’ll drop some books by in the next few days,” He said.

“Thank you,” You replied, and you meant it. You turned as you reached the outside of your building.

“See you around,” Benny said softly. You reciprocated his smile, watching as he turned around and J-walked across the street.

It was mid-week when Amanda practically bombarded into the opposite library chair to you. “Please tell me you’re not going to become boring like _a lot_ of other chess players,” She said, and you sent her an amused and confused smile.

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know,” She breathed out. “I just don’t know _anything_ about chess whatsoever. I feel left out whenever you guys talk about a gambit or Sicily. I haven’t even _been_ to Sicily,”

She popped her head on the library table, and you stuck out a hand, patting her a few times gently. “I promise I’m not going to become a boring old chess player,” You said, and when Amanda looked up her eyes were sparkling.

“To be honest, I don’t even think the others are boring either. Benny wears a _cowboy_ hat, how boring could he be?”

“Well, that’s true. And he’s got the moustache.” Amanda frowned.

“I don’t like the moustache.” She said it like she’d had multiple nightmares about the hair on his upper lip, like she’d fought in a war against it.

You knew how it felt being the odd one out in a group; you could feel Amanda’s hurt. It was an utterly different world when you didn’t have a clue about competitive chess. You leant forward, smiling at her.

“Here’s my advice. When we play, just look at the other’s _faces_ , not the game itself.” You began. “You can tell how a game is going by everyone’s reactions, not the pieces on the board. It makes it all much more tense and enjoyable. I did that when I first started going to chess tournaments with my—,” You stopped yourself, your throat immediately going dry.

Amanda’s face dropped a little when she saw you struggling. “Dad?”

You forced yourself to swallow. “Yeah.” You said, before you started packing your things up. “I gotta head home,” You stood abruptly, shoving books in your bags. Amanda watched with worry as you packed up, a small frown on her face.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” She said, just before you turned on your heels and headed out of the building. You ignored her as you felt your heart begin to race.

You clamped your eyes shut as you reached outside, but all that you saw on the underside of your eyelids was a casket, slowly descending into the ground—

You gasped, stopping halfway down the stairs to the library, your tote bag flinging off your shoulder. You muttered to yourself as you tried to get yourself together. You were thankful that classes had just ended for the day, meaning not too many students were around to witness your stupidity.

You rushed down the stairs and squatted as you went to pick up the contents of your bag. You fumbled with your books and belongings, trying desperately to get everything back inside and bolt home as fast as possible.

The click of two heeled shoes appeared in front of your nose; then a hand reached down toward the floor and picked up one of the books—it was Benny’s book.

“Don’t ever tell him you’ve read this,” A voice sounded from above. You hurriedly finished packing your bag and slung it over your shoulder clumsily as you stood up.

“Yeah—I regret doing just th—,” You stopped speaking as your eyes hit hers.

The photos didn’t do her any justice. Her eyes were huge, and her hair was a bright red that you hadn’t been expecting. She looked like someone straight out of a Hollywood movie, with perfect curls and precisely applied make up—

“Beth Harmon,” You said, furrowing your brows in confusion. What the _hell_ was Beth Harmon doing in New York?

“Yes,” She replied, a surprised smile on her face. “And you are?”

“Y/N!” Another voice yelled from a few meters away. Benny jogged towards you with a smile plastered on his face. “Great, you’ve met.”

You still had multiple unanswered questions. “I don’t mean to be rude, but why are you here?” You said, and was surprisingly met with more smiles.

“I help mentor the chess team here. Beth came to visit for a few days.” You nodded slowly, still trying to take in what was actually happening. Beth looked you up and down, but not judgementally.

“You’re Y/N L/N. Benny’s told me a lot about you,” She started. “I already know a lot about your father.” Butterflies appeared in your stomach at the mention of him once more. You were having an off day—it was impossible, no matter how hard you tried, not to feel sick, or faint, or wobbly, at any mention of _him_ that day.

It would fade. You knew it would.

But then it would probably come back, again and again and again—

Until you forced yourself to forget again.

You swallowed, forcing your throat to open; forcing yourself to _breathe._

“Yes, I expect you would.” You replied, not meaning for it to be blunt, but that’s exactly how it sounded. You sent an apologetic smile quickly, before you gestured to have the book back. You shoved it in your bag as Benny adjusted his hat.

“Wanna come to chess meet?” He asked, both sets of champion eyes staring you down.

“I was just heading home,” You replied.

“Perfect, so you’re free,” He said, stepping forward and slinking an arm around your shoulders. You didn’t know how to protest without revealing just how much you were crumbling today.

There was an ingrained vendetta against weakness in your system, so deep beneath your skin that you hadn’t even wept at your father’s funeral—

Not one single tear.

But your throat had hurt for days afterwards. Your voice had been coarse and raw, exhausted.

You let Benny lead you to the Student Union, smug smile plastered all over his face as he sauntered into the club with you and Beth. “Gentlemen,” He announced upon arrival, and about two dozen boys turned to his immediate attention.

You shot an amused glance at Beth, who sent you the same one back.

“We have two special guests today—,” He gestured to you and Harmon. “Beth Harmon, Chess World Champion, 1967,” There was applause at Beth’s introduction. She smiled sweetly around the room. Inside, butterflies were bombarding your gut—

“And Y/N L/N, Grandmaster L/N’s daughter.”

When no applause came, you wanted to die on the spot. Instead, the welcome you got was a room full of sudden sullen faces, a sombre tension entering the room and sticking over everything. Benny looked positively full of rage.

“If you’re lucky, you’ll see her second game ever played. The first of which, she beat _me_ at speed chess.” The faces changed like nothing you’d ever seen—the sudden chatter between the members was something that made your cheeks blush. “But let me make this clear, first—,” Benny continued, shooting a hard stare at you before he continued talking. “There will be no questions surrounding Grandmaster L/N to Y/N, unless she begins the conversation. There will be no prodding, no poking, no prying. You got that?”

You stared at the back of Benny’s head as he spoke, in awe at the authority he had over the room. If you were blushing before, your cheeks were definitely bright red then.

You were thankful, a little embarrassed, but mostly thankful.

You didn’t expect to stay for more than a few games, but after an hour you were sat on a table, overseeing a commentary match between Beth and the Columbia chess team Captain. Benny was at the chalk board, reciting all the moves and strategies that were coming into play.

Beth had won every game she’d played, obviously.

“Now he’s one move away from being in check—what does he do? _Can_ he do anything?” Benny asked everyone, but the room went silent. Oblivious looks were passed around from man to man. You scanned the board once more, and the answer came to you instantly.

“He can’t win,” You spoke up, and felt twenty pairs of eyes wash over you. Benny furrowed his brows at you. “But they can draw.” You saw Benny raise his eyebrow. You jumped down from the table and approached the board, mind fully in the game.

“None of his moves will put Beth in check, and moving his King would just result in a back and forth,” You pointed to the black pawn on G2. “If he moves his pawn to the end of the board, he can swap one of his rooks back on the board.” You moved the pawn to G1, swapping it out with a previously taken rook.

The rook was in line with Beth’s King; she was blocked in by pawns from every angle.

“Beth would be forced to call a draw, since neither can win in their current positions.”

Benny let out a slow clap, strolling toward you and smacking a hand on your shoulder. “That’s what we call a Promotion,” Benny said, practically glowing. “It’s often overlooked in the middlegame.” Benny clapped his hands together once more. “Right, one more game. Who wants to play?”

You felt all those eyes wash over you again. Now that you’d spoken, now that you’d at least proven you knew the game, you knew they’d want you to play—

But you just _couldn’t._

Not that day.

“Y/N?” Beth spoke, her eyes hitting yours. She was the last person you expected to speak up. You didn’t know what to say—who would turn down a world champion?

You found yourself meeting Benny’s eye, trying desperately to communicate that you’d probably throw up again if you sat down in that chair opposite Beth. Luckily for you, he came forward. “I’ll play,” He said, smiling at Beth. He glanced back at you as he took off his hat and held it out towards you. You took it from his hands, stepping away from the table.

You’d never seen a room full of people so focused on one game. None of them blinked, none of them spoke—this was like a flashback to the US Championship—when Beth had wiped the floor with Benny’s game.

When Benny won, you expected Beth to be annoyed. She was known to be feisty, short-tempered, but when she lost, she lost gracefully. Benny, on the other hand, was celebrating his win in a less refined way; “Guess I just had a bad day in Ohio.” He teased, but Beth accepted his comments light-heartedly with an aura of elegance that you hadn’t expected, after reading about her earlier games.

Benny shoved open the double doors of the Student Union in triumph, a shit-eating grin slapped across his jaw. He mimed crowds cheering and applauding, all the while Beth descended the stairs respectfully, an amused look behind her eyes.

“Still got it,” Benny said, finally. You came up behind him, slamming his cowboy hat on top of his pretty boy hair.

“ _Sure_ , you still got it,” You chuckled. “Beth still whooped your ass last year.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Benny trailed off, striding ahead of you and Beth as he took in his victory.

“Why didn’t you play?” Beth said suddenly, forcing you to meet her eye for just a second, before moving your gaze to the campus green.

“Today’s not a good day for me to play,” You said. It was vague, you knew, but you weren’t in any headspace to explain, especially not to Beth fucking Harmon.

“You see him everywhere, don’t you,” She stated, crossing her arms as you continued to stroll away from the university. You tried not to hold your breath as you waited for her response—

You tried not to think of _him._

“For months after New Mexico, I saw my mother at my games. She’d sit by the piano, or mingle amongst the crowds,” Beth stopped abruptly, turning to face you. “But she wasn’t a Grandmaster; she just had a daughter who knows how to play chess,” She sent you a stare, one that penetrated through every barrier you’d designed to protect yourself. “You have _both_. I expect it’s a lot to deal with, even just looking at a chess board, let alone _playing the game_ —which you didn’t actually play until a month ago.”

You let out a forced chuckle. “Benny told you about that, then.”

“He’s called me a lot about you, recently. I can see why he’s excited.” Both of you glanced towards Benny; he had one foot up on a bench, arms draped over his knee, talking with two girls, whose giggles you could hear from where you stood.

“He’s a _charmer,_ for sure.” You were being sarcastic, and Beth chuckled.

“Oh—he _can_ be, when he _wants_ to be,” The way she said it made you send her a _look._

“Oh?” You said, already catching on to what she was getting at. “I didn’t realise it was _like that,_ ”

“Not anymore—God, no,” Beth let out quickly. “But for those five weeks before Paris, sure. It was fun.”

You never would have guessed something happened between Benny and Beth, but the more you put two and two together, the more it made sense. If Beth could talk about it freely you got the sense that nothing ended badly between them—she seemed so unbothered, but still thought fondly of what happened—

You’d never so much as _liked_ anyone you’d slept with, let alone thought back fondly to those times. It was enough to make you laugh inwardly at your own pathetic love life.

You stayed put as Beth strolled forward and grabbed Benny by his collar, pulling him away from the two girls at the bench. As Benny was dragged away, his eyes hit yours—

He smiled, that classic, stupidly smug smile—

And you couldn’t help but smile back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a fluffy and cute chapter, but dont let that fool you. just wait till the end...
> 
> enjoy x

It was a few days later, Saturday night, when Beth Harmon knocked on the door to your apartment. “Beth—,” You said, as she let herself in.

“I _refuse_ to get ready for a night out in his grotty little basement. There’s simply no light to see what the hell I’m doing,” She waltzed into your apartment, hair tied with a scarf, shoes clicking across the wooden floor. You let out an accepting chuckle as you shut the door. You faced her awkwardly, stuffing your hands in your jean pockets.

“This is a cute apartment,” Beth said, eyes skimming the room like she was window shopping, before turning to you expectantly.

“Drink?” You burst out, not used to playing hostess.

“Anything non-alcoholic, if you have it,” You sprang into action, fast walking to the kitchen.

Never in your life did you think Beth Harmon would one day show up at your apartment unexpectedly. You’d moved to New York to distance yourself from chess, yet this was the most active within the community that you’d ever been—

It boggled your mind to the point where you often chose not to even think about it.

You grabbed a beer and a Diet Coke can from the fridge, the latter for Beth.

“I can see why you’d need to get out of Benny’s place,” You began, amusement on your lips. “It’s all too... _Benny_ ,”

“I think you mean it’s all too _freakish._ The first time he brought me here I thought he—,”

“Was going to kidnap you,” You finished her sentence, handing her the coke can and taking a seat on the couch in the middle of your studio. “Matt told me about your reaction to the basement. _Understandable_ really,” You smiled with your eyes as you took a gulp of beer. Beth joined you on the couch, slipping off her shoes and bringing her knees up to her chest.

“I misjudged him, back then,” Beth began, her voice sounding some-what distant. “He’s a good guy. Arguably one of the best, albeit a bit egotistical... and annoying... and cocky...” Laugher sprang from her mouth as she kept talking. You rested your cheek on your hand, propped up on the couch back.

It was then that the possibility of you becoming friends with Beth Harmon came to your mind. This was what _friends_ did; sat on the couch, drank, gossiped, laughed. It was just odd to think that she was literally a chess World Champion, fully integrated into a world you’d tried so hard to get out of. 

“You don’t have a chess board?” She brought up, suddenly. You watched as she scanned the room for any sign of the classic black and white squares. When she looked back at you, you silently pointed to the closet next to your bed. “It’s in there?” She added, turning and giving the door a staring contest. “Why?” She muttered, and you got the sense she’d meant to ask that to herself.

“He left it to me. It’s his,” Your father’s.

Beth flicked her gaze to you like lightning. “He _left_ it to you?” You let out a shaky breath.

“I was going to donate it to the Chess Federation, but I haven’t got round to it,” Beth’s face softened. It was as if her eyes were staring into your soul—like she was trying to tell you what a sad thing that would be.

“Is it beautiful?” She asked, which took you by surprise. You’d never heard of anyone asking if a chess board was _beautiful._ It caused something to grow inside you—a memory. One that didn’t make your throat close—

A chess associate had come to the house when you were nine or ten. You’d stayed clung to the hallway wall, watching as they drank whiskey and laughed about past tournaments. That’s when your father grabbed the board from the sideboard—

You watched as his associates’ eyes had _lit up_.

Maybe it _was_ beautiful.

“It’s handmade. From Russia, when he went there in 1940.” You breathed out, still present within the memory.

“They have beautiful boards in Russia,” Beth confirmed. “I managed to snag myself Borgov’s King, he placed it in my hands when I won,” Beth got up from the couch, headed for her bag. You came back to reality as she rummaged through her belongings, revealing a gold painted King piece. She handed it to you.

You held the piece with gentle curiosity, with careful fingers. “It’s sort of a good luck charm now, even though I don’t believe in superstition.” She jumped back on the couch, watching as you traced the intricate golden brush strokes on the crown.

“I listened to the game on the radio,” You admitted, handing her back the piece. “I was holding my breath for most of it.”

“So, you’ve followed along with chess this entire time?”

“I suppose so, yes,”

Beth took a pause. “Did he know?”

You could have told her that the thought of your father even _knowing_ that you knew the game back to front made you want to vomit. You could have told her that it was easier to step back into the shadows, away from all the questions, the curiosities, the “Are you proud?” asks that you always got at every game—

Instead, you simply said “No.”

Because the fact was—

You thought your father was _amazing_ —

You thought he was the _best_ —

But whenever anyone from that world saw _you_ , they were actually seeing _him_.

You forced yourself to put on a smile, gulping down some more beer and ending it with a refreshing “Ahh.”

“Right—,” You jumped up from the couch. “Music? Outfits? For tonight,”

Beth shot you a playful look. “We’ll blow them all out of the water,”

Beth had spared no expense on her clothes after winning World Champion. You lost count at the sixth blouse she laid out on the floor, matching each one up with a different skirt, or pair of trousers.

You were no fashion expert—you’d got by on trousers and inornate tops most of your life, balanced out with a pair of scuffed Doc. Martens that were in need of a good sponge and soapy water. You owned one pair of heels, and they weren’t even that tall.

You had to admit that the attention was fun. Beth would hold up clothes to your frame and step back, squinting, before going onto the next item.

You admired her, not just because she was a marvel with a chess board, but because she did it in _style._ You could see her genuine interest in fashion, the way her eyes lit up whenever she saw something made out of silk, or a flattering necklace.

Neither of you realised the time until another knock sounded from your apartment door. You flung it open, still laughing at something Beth had said, and was met with a stare from Benny Watts.

“How _long_ does it take to get dressed?” He said, and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Longer than it takes you to slip on the same green shirt and greying jeans that you wear every damn day,” You hit back.

“And the hat—don’t forget the hat,” Beth spoke up from the couch, pulling on a pair of Chelsea boots.

Benny entered your apartment, shoving a pile of books in your arms. “Thought I might as well drop these around, seeing as you both think we have all the time in the world before Amanda scolds us for being late,”

You took the books, depositing them on the desk in front of the window to the fire escape.

“Want a drink before we go?” You said, peering at yourself in the mirror that sat atop the desk. Beth had done your make up—you’d never looked, nor felt, this sophisticated in your life.

Benny let out a sigh. “Go on, then,”

You rushed into the kitchen, opening up the fridge and grabbing two beers. “Beth—do you want another coke?” You asked. When she didn’t reply, you looked up to find the two of them stood next to the couch, eyes plastered on the _closet_.

Beth was whispering something in Benny’s ear, a reserved look on his face.

You knew it was about your father’s chess board—

And you chose to _ignore it._

You popped open your beer, taking a few large gulps and slamming the can back down on the counter. Benny was the first to meet your eye, as you leaned on the counter looking at them discuss the demons in your closet. He quickly ended the conversation after that, strolling over to the kitchen and timidly taking the beer from the counter.

You could see something swimming behind his eyes—you prayed it wasn’t pity, but you also had a feeling that Benny had _never_ _pitied_ you. Either way, you could feel something unpleasant rising to the surface of your judgement.

“Nice place,” Benny said, trying desperately to make small talk. He popped open his can, drinking in silence while his eyes flew around the room, looking at anything except you.

Beth flicked through your limited records, picking out Johnny Cash from the bunch. You both watched as she slotted the record on your player and the needle placed itself down. _Ring of Fire_ started, and with it came a dancing chess champion.

You glanced at Benny, a small smile on his lips, as he watched Beth dance so freely in your living room. It was impossible not to smile when Beth Harmon danced—it was impossible not to _look_ at her either. She was petite, but fiery, with her bright hair and even brighter prospects.

You pictured yourself getting _used_ to this—

To _them_.

Being around them, laughing with them, smiling with them, making bad decisions in the spur of the moment with them—

These people who you’d once associated with your father—

You now associated with _yourself_.

When you blinked you were in Monte’s, on the dance floor with Beth and Amanda. The music blared, the floor was lit, and you hadn’t danced this much since you were a young girl in ballet lessons.

Beth grabbed your hands, flinging your arms in the same rhythm as hers. She spun you around once, twice, three times, before you had to stop and step back, almost falling over onto your arse, not for the first time that night.

Occasionally, while you were spinning, you’d catch a glimpse of a certain cowboy hat, sat just beyond the dance floor with the others—

He’d always be looking in your direction.

You wondered if it was for any embarrassing reasons—your seam had ripped, your flies were undone, your hair was a mess—but you knew that it was just _Benny._ He was probably comparing your dance moves to chess games inside his head.

A twist onto another square, another one down, another step closer to checkmate.

You gave in after an hour, making your way back to the table, your brow spotted with sweat. “I don’t know how they do it, I’m ready for a hip replacement,” You joked, as you popped yourself down in the booth next to Benny.

He slid a cocktail in your direction, half of which you _inhaled_ through the straw in a matter of seconds. Kayden laughed in shock as you sat back, closing your eyes and smiling from ear to ear. “This time you’re definitely going to throw up from the _booze_ , not the chess,”

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Benny chimed in, tapping his glass casually, eyes scanning Beth and Amanda on the dance floor.

You embraced the warmth the alcohol had given you. You were positively giddy, in the best of moods. You leant forward, resting your chin in your hands as you looked towards the ceiling. Lights danced on the walls, the worn-down fake chandeliers—you followed them as they flew over booths, tables, Benny’s hat—

_Benny’s hat._

The insatiable urge to steal it from his head came over you before you could think about the consequences. In a swift motion, you pulled it from his head, his eyebrows rising as you deposited it on your head.

“Ah—so you’re _Amanda_ level drunk, huh?” Benny said playfully, but you didn’t feel incredibly pissed. Over anything else, you simply felt _happy_.

“That’s just rude,” You said. Right on cue, Amanda let out a squeal as she toppled over on the dance floor. You watched as she laughed at herself, as Beth helped her up swiftly, sending an awkward smile back at you and Benny.

“You were saying?” Benny whispered in your ear. It was enough to make you jump, turning to immediately look at him, face to face—

He was smiling deviously, playfully, a hint of smugness always laced within his expression. Despite how close you were to his face you didn’t back away. It was like you’d just entered an unofficial staring contest, too focused on the way his pupils darted from eye to eye, your nose, your chin, your _lips_ —

They lingered there for slightly longer than you’d been expecting.

That’s when you backed away, sending him a quizzical smirk.

You overlooked his lingering stare, going back to your cocktail, when Matt and Mike came back from the bar with two trays full of drinks and shots. You saw Benny grimace, as Mike ran off to get Beth and Amanda. Kayden was banging the table in a rising crescendo.

“Am I missing something?” You said, just as the others came back from the dance floor.

“No, you’re not,” Benny said quickly. Kayden butt in, placing a shot in front of everyone, with the difference of a shot of lemonade for Beth, around the table. When he was done, he stood, raising his own shot to the sky.

“Mr. Benny Watts!” Benny sat with a shy smile on his face. “It is your 28th year of being a cocky bastard,” You shot your stare to Benny, a shocked smile on your face. “And for that, we must all drink our overlooked fondness of you _away_.”

You raised your shot to the sky along with everyone else, sending down a stare at Benny as he sat, unmoving. Cheers and chants began as he contemplated picking up his shot, the longer he stalled, the louder they got, until he finally gave in—

“ _Alright!_ Alright. You’re all assholes,” He stood, raising his shot glass. “Apart from you.” He said, turning a smile on you. Before you could react, everyone threw back their shots, grimacing as it slid down their throats.

You slammed your shot glass down on the table, holding Benny’s hat to your head with one hand as it began to slide from your skull. “You didn’t tell me it was your fucking birthday,” You followed him in sitting back down.

“Didn’t need to, not with _these lot_ around,” He sent sly stares at the boys, getting back a wink from Kayden.

“It means you don’t have to feel bad for not getting him a present,” Mike chimed in.

“It _also_ means that afters will be running _all night,_ ” Matt interjected, raising his eyebrows at Benny, who’d already raised a hand in objection.

“No, _no_ —my place is too small for all of us. Not to mention, _some people_ don’t appreciate the _grandeur_ of living in a New York basement,” Benny sent a look to Beth, who sipped innocently at a Diet Coke, avoiding his eyes.

“We’ll go to mine,” You offered, and were met with the three boys’ gleeful smiles.

You blinked once more and were back in your apartment. Music played from the record player, Beth and Kayden danced a Charleston in the living room while the rest of you lounged on the floor or the couch.

Mike pointed to your bookshelf; books littered the floor beneath it and were on practically every surface in the apartment. “Have you really read _all_ of them?”

“I’ve read most of them,” You said, sipping at another drink. You’d honestly lost count what number you were on, but you hadn’t reached a bad stage of drunk yet; the night was still young.

“Even _mine_ ,” Benny added, smiling to himself.

“Even yours,” You replied monotonously.

Amanda shuffled on the floor, sipping at the water Matt had given her upon arrival at your place. “I have a question,” She said, alerting everyone. Beth and Kayden, short of breath and red faced, trailed back to the main circle. “It’s about _chess._ ” She added, which really got everyone’s attention. “Benny—how many games of chess do you play a day? Like, on average?”

Benny raised his brows at Amanda’s sudden interest in the chess world. He leaned forward from his seat on the couch, draping his arms over his knees. “Sometimes I play a lot, sometimes not. Maybe once a day, overall,”

Amanda nodded at his response. “Did you play today?”

Benny let out a huff. “ _No_ , actually. Not today,”

You froze as a thought came to the forefront of your mind. As everyone chatted, you were focused on other things—

_The closet._

It was as if the door was on fire. It was impossible for you not to turn and look at it.

You attempted to make a pros and cons list in your mind, but all that happened was a bunch of words in a bunch of columns that you couldn’t decipher. That’s what alcohol did—it took away your anxieties, your logistical brain around what consequences could occur if you did something that you knew would affect you, not just emotionally, but probably physically too.

It was too late to turn back after you’d stood up, strolling towards the closet and opening it up, oblivious to what the others must have been thinking. You squatted, grabbing the square box that sat on the floor to the back, behind all of your clothes. You kicked the door shut as you made your way back to the group and deposited the box in the middle of the floor.

No one spoke as you opened the lid, revealing a glistening chess board with equally polished pieces. No one breathed as you plucked it from the box, placing it on the wooden floor, along with the pieces and matching clock. You arranged them all as the others sat in, perhaps, a moment of silence—

A moment of silence for _him._

You pushed the box out of the circle, crossing your legs in front of the black side of the board, clock on your right side.

That’s when you looked up at Benny, his expression unreadable. It wasn’t what you’d been expecting, maybe some excitement would have been better, but you didn’t let that stop you from revealing a small, sombre smile his way.

“It’s your birthday,” You cut through the excruciating silence. “You deserve a game.” 

Benny frowned suddenly, but it wasn’t because he was sad. You got the sense that he didn’t know what to say—that he was _speechless_ —perhaps, _grateful_.

He slid from the couch to the floor as Matt and Mike dispersed to other positions without question. Everyone watched as he touched his fingers to each piece gently, as if he were paying respects.

If you were sober, you would have crumbled, but you were _drunk._ His mannerisms, his expressions, his gentle way of touching the board, wasn’t getting to you. The board itself was just another block of wood in your mind—

Your emotions felt _numbed._

When he finally looked at you, his eyes were glassy.

“Are you sure you wanna do this?” He asked. You didn’t register the concern in his voice. All you were focused on was the unfolding story within your head, concerning a kingdom and a brave knight. 

You nodded, breathing in deeply, before you hovered your hand over the clock starter.

“Let’s play.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahhahahssgha i love this chapter. im sorry.
> 
> also, please tell me if any of you would like the link to the 'adjournment' playlist i've created! it's a list of songs that i feel resonate with the chapters, and ones ive listened to religiously while writing this baby.
> 
> enjoy x

You gasped when you opened your eyes. You were fully dressed, tucked up in bed as the New York morning was just beginning.

You tried to move, and with it came a colossal brick whack to your head. You winced, smacking your lips to try and erase the immense dry, stale taste in your mouth.

All you knew was that you needed water, and that meant walking to the kitchen.

You forced yourself to sit at the edge of your bed as a stabbing pain penetrated your temples. You pushed forward, placing your feet on the wooden flooring and attempting to stand—

With it came a _wave_ of nausea.

You felt like _shit._ Pure, unfiltered, _shit._

And it was all entirely self-inflicted. You only had yourself to blame for drinking the extortionate about of booze that you had the previous night.

_Last night._

You tried to place everything—you remembered Monte’s, then coming back to your apartment afterwards, but everything beyond that was a _blur_ that you simply couldn’t recall.

You urged yourself to step forward, then step again, and again—

That was when your foot _whacked_ into something on the floor; immediately all balance went out of the window. You fell to the ground, only just putting out your arms in time to somewhat break your fall. You rolled on the floor, moaning in pain, as the urge to be sick increased evermore.

“ _Jesus_ —,” A coarse voice spoke up, causing you to react way too fast than your body could bare. You halted abruptly, finally seeing what you’d slammed into—

_Benny fucking Watts_ was on your floor, wrapped in a throw blanket from your couch, cushion placed by his head. He clutched his hand to his rib, squinting in pain.

“Why the _fuck_ did you do that?” He groaned.

“Why the _fuck_ are you on my floor?”

“Why the _fuck_ did you kick me in the ribs?”

“Why—,” You started, but the pounding in your head had got to an agonising level. “Just, _wait_ ,” You said, willing your limbs to move. You hoisted yourself off the floor, clutching the counter as you made your way to the sink. You didn’t even grab a glass, you shoved your mouth under the faucet and turned it on, letting water dribble from your mouth as you inhaled it into your system.

Your mouth started to feel normal again, after several large gulps of that fresh New York tap water. You breathed in and out, trying to ease the nausea, before you turned to oversee the rest of the apartment—

Remnants of cups and glasses littered the room, bare vinyl records sat by the record player, Benny was bundled up next to your bed, a pained expression still on his face, and in the centre of the room—

“Is that... my father’s chess board?” You stuttered out.

Benny looked up at you, confusion littering his eyes. “You got it out. We played,”

“We _played?_ ” You said, trying desperately to remember what had happened, but nothing was coming up.

“Do you seriously not remember?” He said, and you sent him a frown. Benny got himself up, stretching his arms over his head, his abdomen just visible as his t-shirt rode up his chest. His hair was tussled, his face pale, his eyes glassy--

You didn’t realise you were staring until he locked eyes with you once more. You acted as if you hadn’t just been gawking, turning groggily towards the coffee pot.

“Do you want coffee?” You asked unenthusiastically.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Benny croaked out, stomping towards the kitchen like he was a toddler who’d just woken up from a nap. You went about prepping the coffee, your brain still not fully switched on.

You felt like you were in a dreamscape, a reality that wasn’t _actually_ real, and having Benny there in the morning made it all seem more so. You poured coffee in the nearest empty mugs you could find, sliding one to Benny as he leaned on the counter. He took the mug, but didn’t drink.

“We need to talk,” He said, and immediately your heart dropped. That phrase wasn’t something that _anyone_ liked to here; in a relationship, or out of one. You swallowed uncomfortably, leaning opposite him. “You beat me again last night.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. Instead, you sipped at your coffee waiting for him to continue. “Y/N, look at me.” Benny demanded, and you complied immediately. He’d never spoken to you like this before—you’d be lying if you said your adrenaline hadn’t spiked.

You looked into his eyes, feeling incredibly vulnerable. You felt exposed, trapped under some kind of spotlight, unable to travel backward into the shadows. Benny cleared his throat.

“You beat Harmon, too.”

You would have fainted right there if the embarrassment of fainting in front of Benny Watts wasn’t at the front of your mind. The most you could get out of your mouth was a sound somewhere between exhaling and humming. If you’d _felt_ inside a dream before, then this was a whole other level—you _were_ dreaming, you _had_ to be. This simply couldn’t be real.

The only way you were ever going to talk again was if you changed the subject. You stomped down your immense anxiety and confusion and sipped at your coffee, urging yourself to speak about something— _anything—_ else.

“That doesn’t explain why you slept on my floor last night.”

The way Benny’s face softened hit you in the gut. He tapped his mug, eyes darting everywhere except for at you. You realised he did that when he _felt_ a certain way—when he felt awkward or on the spot— _exposed_.

“After what happened at your first game, I didn’t want you to wake up, sober and alone, realising what you’d done and vomit your guts up,” Your eyes widened slightly at his words. He kept tapping is mug, but finally looked you in the eye. “Just wanted to make sure you would be okay.”

“I’m okay,” You said after a pause, before letting out a shaky breath. You placed your head on the counter, the cold surface giving your pounding head some relief. “I can’t believe I can’t fucking remember it.” Your voice contained a lot more frustration and sadness than you’d meant to put out, but it was too late to take it back now.

Even _imagining_ that you’d beaten Beth Harmon seemed farfetched, but beating her while heavily drunk, playing on your father’s chessboard that you hadn’t been able to even _look at_ for over a month, let alone _pick it up_ and _play on it,_ was something else.

You weren’t just upset, you were _angry._ Angry at yourself, for giving yourself mixed feelings, for not knowing where the fuck you stood anymore, about _anything._ You were upset that you couldn’t even remember beating two world champions, one after the other—

It just cemented how much of a mess you inwardly felt you were. Too _afraid_ to look at a fucking chessboard, too _drunk_ to remember playing—

You swallowed when you felt the familiar feeling of your throat closing up. You didn’t know if it was just because you felt so shit, or if you’d finally snapped, but you let one tear through—just this time. 

It fell from the corner of your eye, trickling over the bridge of your nose until it dropped onto the counter, splattering with the smallest of sounds and puddling under your cheek.

Your entire body _froze_ when you felt Benny’s hand gently settle atop your head.

You didn’t move an inch from the fear that, if you did, he’d take it back—

Instead, you breathed in and out, unaware of what the warm feeling spreading throughout your chest was.

Your eyelashes fluttered unintentionally as he began to comb is his fingers hesitantly through your hair, tugging softly if he reached a knot, before continuing all the way to the ends and then back to the top.

You didn’t _speak_ , not sure what would pour out if you did. You’d never felt this sort of hands-on help, this level of comfort and emotional support, all because a stupid cowboy hat wearing chess player had decided to run his fingers through your hair—

All because he wanted to _comfort_ you.

When you felt your eyes tearing up once more, you had no choice but to move. Benny took back his hand as if it had never been there, but the way his stare settled upon your flushed face showed you that he’d remember what he’d just done.

You swallowed, suddenly grabbing your coffee and downing it in two gulps. You turned your back to him, placing the mug in the sink. You stood for a moment, arms resting on either side of the sink, eyes clamped shut—

_Overwhelmed_ at what had just happened.

Not because it was _weird_ , or _strange_ —

But because you’d never known you needed something _that badly_ until he’d placed his hand atop your head.

It had been months since you’d been touched in any intimate way, platonically or sexually—and here you were, on the brink of tears at the fact Benny had stroked your hair for a minute or so. 

“Did I really win against Beth?” You let out quietly. You just had to hear it again, then you’d know it was the truth. You turned to Benny, more composed now.

“Yeah. You did.” He said, and you could see relief behind his eyes at the subject change.

You inhaled shakily, but when you let out the breath, it was steady.

“Guess I better do it again, so I can _remember_ it.” You added, and the hint of a smile appeared on Benny’s lips. He made his way around the counter, passing you to put his own mug in the sink, before he stood in front of you.

The gap was fully bridged when he gently jabbed you in the chest, right over your heart.

“That’s _exactly_ what I wanted to hear.”

You didn’t move the chessboard until Benny had left. By that time, it was the afternoon. He’d stayed for another two cups of coffee, discussing the books he’d brought round earlier and getting over his hangover.

He told you that Beth was leaving that evening, back to Lexington, which meant you wouldn’t have a chance to play her again for a few months at least.

“Have you thought about, _I don’t know_ —tournaments?” Benny let out, but you could tell he’d tried to make it sound like it wasn’t a big deal.

“Out of the equation, Benny.” You said, flicking through that months copy of _Chess Review._

“But _why_ not?” He added, the desperation becoming more apparent in his voice. “I could help you, _mentor_ you, maybe—,”

“This conversation is over.” You said sternly, shooting him a red stare. “I mean it.”

He tapped his mug impatiently, looking away from your harsh stare. You ignored him as he stood, popping the mug back on the kitchen counter, before he went to shrug on his jacket. He turned to face you as he placed his hat on his head—

His hat that you’d been wearing the night before.

“I’ll tell Beth you said goodbye.” He let out bluntly. You stood as he opened the door, wanting to say something that would lighten the tension, but you didn’t get the chance to speak before he’d slammed the door behind him.

You managed to place the board and its pieces back in the box before you felt sick to your stomach. Not just because it was _his_ board, but because Benny’s disappointed stare was etched in every corner of your mind.

He was _annoyed._

And you had no idea why he would be, about you _not_ wanting to play chess professionally. Surly, it meant less work for him—for Beth. It meant there wasn’t someone new on the block to play against, especially given the fact you’d beaten two world champions in a _row_ , in your second and third games ever played.

You picked up the chessboard box, wondering whether to put it back in the closet or not. A strange feeling hit you when you thought of it sitting in there, in the dark, hidden away beneath your other belongings—

_He_ wouldn’t have wanted that. He would have wanted it to see the sun, even if that meant the wood would bleach from the light—

You strolled to the window, placing it on the sill, still in the box. It wasn’t visible as a chessboard, no, but it was finally out of that dark, stuffy closet. It was a start—and you knew what it was, which was all that mattered.

Your eyes landed upon Benny’s empty mug on the counter. You frowned, imagining his fidgety fingers as they tapped on it, making his coffee ripple and thud.

His absence filled your apartment as you went to wash up. It was an absence you weren’t expecting, until you’d realised just how _much_ time you spent around Benny fucking Watts, now. A few times a week, at least—and then long periods of time like that morning and afternoon, just talking, or walking, or doing something stupid, probably.

You recalled his fingers as they laced through your hair, the way his face softened as he told you about why he’d stayed—

This wasn’t the first time you’d been an _asshole_ at Benny’s expense.

And you needed to do something to fix it.

You kept that in mind as you made your way through the Student Union doors the following week, knowing that the chess club had just begun their meet.

You tried to channel something strong as you turned the corner, headed straight from the room with more chess boards than you’d ever care to see. You spotted his hat immediately, stood at the blackboard with his back to the members, scribbling moves while everyone stayed hooked onto his every word.

He’d laid out a game plan, crisscrossing arrows all around a quick sketch of a black and white board. You recognised the play immediately—

The King’s Gambit.

Benny liked playing The King’s Gambit. You knew that from his book, and from the way he’d started that first speed chess game.

“Alright,” He said, throwing chalk to the floor and leaning on the desk, almost threateningly. “Who wants to play?”

“I will,” You spoke up immediately, strolling forward into the room. When his eyes hit yours it almost stung, but not in a horrible way—

It was like a moment of recognition, of understanding, as his warm eyes pierced your cold ones. He didn’t soften his frown, nor did he stop furrowing his brows, but you could see a ceasefire behind his pupils. It said he was sorry he snapped, sorry he pushed you, but even sorrier that you’d said no.

Your apology came in the form of sitting at the middle playing table, opposite a scrawny freshman with thick rimmed glasses who was positively _shaking_ in his chinos. Your apology was playing the game; proving to him that you’d try—maybe not _too_ fast—but that you were getting there—

That you were _healing_ —

And he was helping. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: hm, maybe benny shouldn't say this sarcastically, for once
> 
> me:
> 
> me: nah he should. 
> 
> enjoy x

“What’re you doing for Thanksgiving?” Benny said down the phone. It was late, too late to be up before another day of university classes, but you’d both got into the bad habit of calling in the evening.

At first, you’d thought it was stupid— you literally lived five blocks away from each other. But as time passed, you realised it was simply more convenient. You could wear your pyjamas, smoke a cigarette and write your English notes while he chatted away on the line.

“I don’t celebrate Thanksgiving,” You chuckled, phone held between your shoulder and cheek, writing down book notes on the floor at the same time. “Have I been here that long that you’ve forgotten I’m not actually American?”

“With _your_ accent, no one could forget,” He hit back. “Fine then— what are you doing for _the weeks leading up_ to Christmas?”

“Probably drowning my sorrows in mulled wine and reading _Wuthering Heights_ for the hundredth time,”

“Not heading home for it?” His curiosity crept down the phone. You paused, dropping your pencil as you went to grab a cigarette.

“I wasn’t planning on it. Why?”

You could tell what face he was pulling as he breathed down the line. It was a face you’d become accustomed to over the past few weeks at chess club meets. The subtle arch of an eyebrow, lip quivering like he had a secret to tell— in other words, his amused smile.

“Well, Matt and I usually drive upstate to his Mom’s for Thanksgiving. Sometimes we stay for Christmas and New Year’s,”

“Are you inviting me on a _road trip?_ ” You said, exhaling smoke with a reserved smile.

“That depends on if you say yes or not,”

You contemplated your options— staying in your studio and watching _It’s A Wonderful Life_ on repeat in your slippers or drinking and feasting in Matt’s mother’s house for a month.

“It’s my birthday on the 11th of December,” You stated.

“All the more reason to say yes,”

“I have classes—,”

“You and I _both_ know you’ve already written up your assignments early,” He chuckled. “You’re trying so hard to get out of this,”

“And you’re trying so hard to get me to come on a boy’s trip,”

“It’s hardly a boy’s trip when Matt’s mom makes up our third party member,” You stayed silent, flicking ash into an ashtray and falling back to lie on the floor, staring at the ceiling. “Are you afraid I’m finally gonna beat you at chess if we spend the holidays together?”

You huffed at his response, but he wasn’t exactly wrong. The more you’d played against Benny, the more he analysed your moves and tactics. He was getting better at understanding the stories in your head, how you’d set the scene.

It was daunting, and you knew he’d said that as bait, but nevertheless—

It was his bait that you took wholeheartedly.

“If I fail all my classes, I’m holding you accountable,” You said, climbing into the passenger side of Benny’s Beetle, less than a week after he’d roped you into going upstate.

Matt was shoved in the back with the bags, but he didn’t seem to care too much.

“Think of it as an extracurricular vacation,”

“In what world does drinking booze-infused hot chocolate and playing a hundred games of chess count as being extracurricular?”

Benny shot you a smirk. “My world.”

Driving through central New York City the day before Thanksgiving wasn’t the best experience you’d ever had, but after you crossed the Brooklyn Bridge you were plain sailing.

You watched as snow began to fall, thicker and faster, the more you drove upstate. Out the window was rolling fields of cushioned white. Inside the car was Matt and Benny, playing another game of mental chess.

You followed along as they spoke their moves—

Rook to G4, Knight to A7, until Matt lost again and declared another rematch. Benny was soaking up victories, after losing to you, countless times. You hadn’t even noticed how fast the time had gone until Benny put the Beetle in park, outside nothing other than a lake side cabin.

You got out the car, boots dropping into a few inches of untouched snow, eyes plastered on the cabin. “You didn’t tell me your mom’s house was a fucking five-star winter resort,” You shot a wide-eyed smile at Matt, as he grabbed the bags out of the car. “I would have said yes quicker if I knew we were coming here.”

“I wasn’t gonna let you pass up an opportunity to see _Casa-de-Maude_ ,” Benny slammed his car door, trudging through snow toward you. The screen door swung open on the cabin porch, and out burst a woman with subtly greying curls. Her face was red and charming, holding the largest smile you’d ever seen as she bound forward, arms outstretched, blouse untucked from the waistband of her flared trousers.

“My baby!” Matt’s mom yelled, cupping her hands on either side of Matt’s face.

Benny brought his lips to your ear, his breath startling you slightly. “Maude’s lovely. I have a feeling she’ll latch onto you,” You turned a furrowed look on the champion, involuntarily looking his face up and down.

“Benny—,” Maude spoke up, gesturing for him to give her a hug. Benny obliged, strolling toward the porch and encasing Maude in a strong hug. “Your hair gets longer every time I see you,”

“Hair _tends_ to grow,” He shot back sarcastically, but Maude’s smile only increased.

“Mom, this is Y/N, a friend from the city.” Matt reached out for your hand, pulling you up onto the porch swiftly. You tried not to get too flustered as Maude peered into your face like you were an unsolved mystery she was just waiting to figure out.

“Welcome, sweetheart,” She said, bringing you in for a hug that you accepted warmly. When she pulled back, she sent a stare at the bags in the snow. “Come on, boys, get those inside—it’s _freezing.”_

Maude clasped your hand, dragging you inside the cabin.

What surrounded you was nothing short of _rich._ The cabin was all warm timber and deep mahogany tables. Artwork lined the walls, trinkets sat on every shelf, and the smell of fresh bread enveloped all of your senses at once.

You glanced at a large windowsill overlooking the lake, topped with pillows and cushions and soft blankets. You imagined yourself reading there for _hours,_ drinking tea and enjoying Maude’s cooking—

It was all well and good being an independent adult, you wouldn’t have taken that back for the world, but there was something about a _mother’s touch_ that sent you into a different kind of relaxation.

“There are skates and warm coats in the boot room— when the lake freezes over, it makes a fabulous ice rink,” Maude explained, watching as your eyes gazed over the lakes surface.

“You skate here?” You asked, turning your stare to Matt as he and Benny dropped the bags in the entryway.

“It’s cool, right?” He confirmed.

You stood in the open-planned living room, just soaking up the warmth and light and freedom. You’d never been somewhere so beautiful, with friends such as Benny and Matt. Even being _invited_ had stumped you to the point where you’d believed it to be a joke at first, until Benny had practically begged you to come with his fighting words.

You each had your own room, made up pristinely with furs and soft blankets for cold nights. The room was almost the size of your entire studio; you embraced the king-sized bed with a joyful leap right into the centre, stuffing your face into the soft fabrics. You stayed face down for a few minutes, fully able to have fallen asleep if you’d wanted to.

“Enjoying yourself?” The amused voice of Benny Watts sounded from the door.

“How could you tell?” You said, voice muffled as you still laid face down. You felt the mattress shake as Benny deposited himself at the of the bed, his knee touching your thigh.

“I knew you’d like it here,” He said softly. You willed yourself to finally move, looking at him as you slid up the bed to the headboard, resting your head there pleasantly. You watched as Benny moved to sit cross-legged before you, stare turning to look at the view of the lake outside your window.

You traced the line of his jaw, the way his hair fell in subtle waves on his head, skimming his ears and eyeline—

The way Beth had spoken about your father’s chessboard being beautiful had given you a new perspective on the world; it had made you think about all of the _other_ things that were beautiful.

Maybe some people were _actually_ beautiful. Not just because of looks, or style, but because of what they put out into the world—

Maybe Benny fucking Watts was one of those people.

It wasn’t long before chess was brought up. The four of you sat at the grand dining table with plates of food big enough to feed an army.

“How’s your friend, Beth Harmon, Benny?” Maude said. Benny finished chewing, placing his cutlery on his plate neatly.

“She’s well. She visited us for my birthday earlier this month,”

“Did you guys play?”

Benny and Matt moved their stares onto you in an unspoken remembrance. They both remembered you playing against her, _beating_ her—you could see the scene playing out in their heads.

Benny grabbed his glass of red wine, taking a sip before answering. “Yes, we did. We _all_ did,” He added, and you felt butterflies appear in your stomach.

“Oh? Do you play chess too, Y/N?”

You mimicked Benny by taking a sip of wine. “Yes, sometimes.” You stopped, as thoughts of what else to add pelted your mind. You had a strong urge to keep talking, to _open up._ It would be easier than tiptoeing around comments and questions—

It would be _good._

“My father was one of the greats,” You said, ignoring the glances that Matt and Benny gave each other as you continued. “A Grandmaster.”

“ _Goodness_ ,” Maude began, positively beaming. “He must be proud of you for playing, huh? Especially with the likes of _these_ boys.”

Silence floated over the table, with the exception of Maude’s knife and fork squeaking on her plate. You breathed in deeply a few times, but the small smile on your face didn’t fade, even as you placed your own cutlery down on your plate, going to tap your wine glass.

“He died four months ago, of a heart attack,” You let out. Maude stopped eating, turning to look at you. Her eyes were stunned, her expression full of sudden and unstoppable anguish. “It was at his last tournament, right before he got to play his final game of professional chess.”

You had no idea where the words had come from, but as you’d spoken them, you’d felt the oddest sensation—

_Relief._ A _lightness._ A darkness floating away from your body.

You dared to look at Benny, and as you did, you saw his eyes were already plastered on your own. He wasn’t frowning, there was no sadness behind his eyes— he looked at you like you’d just won a chess game against Vasily Borgov, like you’d just become a world champion—

It cemented it in your mind—

_Benny Watts was one of those beautiful people._

“ _Sorry_ , that was a bit of a downer,” You let out, a few chuckles escaping alongside, simply because you couldn’t believe you’d actually _said it._ You’d spent four months trying to forget it had ever happened, trying to go through life like your father hadn’t been one of the greatest chess players the world had known, ignoring the stares, the way people hung their heads in sadness, the way their eyes revealed only pity—

And you’d finally said it _out loud._

“Nonsense,” Maude burst out. “This table and this home are places where anyone can speak up. That’s always been my rule.” There was a finality in her voice that you appreciated.

Despite Maude insisting you sit down after dinner, you chose to help her clean up in the kitchen. You dried the plates, topped up glasses and put away the leftover food, all with a faint smile on your face.

“My dear,” Maude spoke, only loud enough for you to hear. She approached you, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Talking is the greatest healer. I found that out after Matt’s father departed, but it took me a great deal of time before the words came naturally,” She smiled at you warmly, moving her hand to your cheek. “When you speak, I _know_ those boys will listen. They’ve never brought anyone here with them before.” Maude slid her hand from your face, but her eyes didn’t leave yours.

You swallowed, overcome with emotion. “They’re good people.” You managed to let out, and you meant it. They were people you hadn’t expected to gel with so easily, who had taken you in despite knowing who you were and respected your feelings, your wishes, your words.

Both of you turned to Benny and Matt, sat in the living room chatting. You could tell Maude was extremely proud of her son. You’d had no idea that Matt had lost his father as well—you almost felt _guilty_ for not asking about his family, for not being observant, but you also knew that Matt hardly talked about his personal life. Coming to his family home was the closest you’d ever got to finding out more about him.

You felt privileged that he’d let you in.

You kept the curtains open in your room as you laid in bed that night, watching the snow glisten as it fell from the sky. The moon was bright, and you felt _thankful._ The irony of you feeling this way when Thanksgiving was approaching was comical, considering you didn’t celebrate it.

You felt thankful for this life, for being welcomed. You felt thankful for your friends and your family—your mother, and your old roommate back in England.

You felt thankful for _chess_.

Your heart skipped when you heard a knock at your door, just loud enough for you to notice. You paused before jumping out of bed and tugging on your dressing gown, strolling slowly to the door and placing your ear to it.

The knocks came again, followed by a “Y/N?”.

It was Benny— _of course_ it was.

You breathed out as you creaked open the door, revealing him in plaid pyjama trousers, his chest bare, apart from a silk dressing gown that draped over his shoulders.

You only stared at him, as the moon rays from your window hit his face, your heart beating faster than you’d liked it to. He leaned against the door frame with his legs crossed. He was so close, and it was so silent, that you could hear— _feel_ — his breathing. It was slow and steady, as if he’d come to your room in the middle of the night a thousand times before.

“May I come in?”

You had no idea why Benny wanted to come in, no idea why he’d been up this late contemplating actually coming to your door—but the feeling that flowed through your blood was telling you not to deny him.

So, you opened the door further, until the crack was big enough for his body to slide through.

As you closed the door, you tried to ignore the warmth bubbling in your gut—

But as you turned to him, sat on the corner of your bed—

You had no choice but to embrace it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you so much for 100 kudos and almost 1k hits!! i'm so grateful honestly. 
> 
> just to tell yall that i cried while writing a later chapter of this last night, like proper sobs. so yall have that to look forward to..
> 
> enjoy x

“Sorry, I know it’s late,” Benny said, finally breaking the silence. You stayed stood by the door, not sure where to place yourself.

“It’s okay. Did you need something?” You asked, faking confidence.

Benny only smiled, but you could see something brewing beneath his expression. He looked somewhere between bursting into tears and bursting into laughter. It _scared_ you. You hadn’t seen him this way before.

“You spoke about him today,” He said, and now you knew why this conversation couldn’t have waited until morning. “It just—took me by surprise.”

You let out a huff, staring at the floor. “Wasn’t just you,” You spoke, feeling the tension in the room start to settle. “I don’t know why, I just—,”

“It doesn’t matter why,” He interrupted, and you got the sense he was trying to slow himself down, as not to overwhelm you. “I’m just glad you did.”

He stood up then, taking in a deep breath through his nostrils and staring at the lake. “Can I be honest with you for a second?” He asked, and the breath caught in your throat. You laughed awkwardly, feeling your cheeks blush from your rising adrenaline.

“I thought you were always honest with me,”

“I am,” He said sternly, turning to face you. “But I mean, brutally honest.”

You paused. “Of course.”

“I’m going to ramble, so just— _stop me_. If I’m being too _anything_.” You nodded, astounded that he was fighting against his words spilling onto the floor. You’d never seen Benny so worked up about something on his mind, especially when it came to something that he wanted to tell _you._

“I feel like for your first three months here, I didn’t actually _know_ you. I knew your name and your family and their history—I knew your _father_ —but every time I tried to place my finger on you, I’d end up with nothing.” He placed a hand to his forehead, trying to make sense of his own thoughts. “It was infuriating, to say the least.”

_Infuriating._ You didn’t know he’d felt that way about you.

“I _wanted_ to know you—the same way that I know a chessboard is eight squares by eight and the Queen can move anywhere. I _still_ want to know you; it’s like every day I find out something I wasn’t aware of and end up kicking myself because I didn’t see it before,”

Your lip began to quiver. “I’m sorry—,”

“No, don’t be sorry—,” He said quickly, stepping toward you with wide-eyes. “That’s not what I wanted to get across; you don’t owe me any apologies whatsoever. I’m _trying_ to say that I—,” He paused, his eyes glued to your own. His lip curled into a smile. “I’m glad I feel like I know you, now. Like you’ve opened up, or _let me in,_ or something.”

You finally understood that it was odd for Benny to speak so freely like this, to let his words flow. You could tell he struggled with it, with placing his feelings into any kind of sentence. It was something you understood well—

And it only made that warm feeling in your gut grow evermore strong.

“Benny—,”

“I’m sorry if that came out all wrong,” He laughed to himself; you could tell he felt vulnerable.

“It’s—,”

“ _God_ I probably sound like an entitled prick.” You didn’t know how else to react to such _human_ behaviour, other than wrapping your arms around his neck. He stopped talking immediately, allowing your head to settle in the nook between his neck and shoulder. When he wrapped his arms around your torso you closed your eyes.

Your smile was from ear to ear, your cheeks the brightest of reds, not that he could see them in the dim light. You felt how fast his heart was racing beneath his ribs and you wondered if his face was the same level of flushed, or even more so.

Benny Watts was an over-thinker—

It was something you’d never even imagined he’d be until you were embracing him, hearing his incessant heartbeat finally beginning to calm down. As it did, he became less rigid, falling deeper into the hug.

When you pulled away, you thought he’d try and avoid your eye, but he didn’t—

He looked right at you, exposed, out in the open, guts spilled all over the rug.

“Do you want a night-cap?” You said, almost patronisingly, as if he were a child who’d just said his first words. He took it light-heartedly, letting out a chuckle.

“Whiskey sounds good right about now.”

You woke early, adrenaline still pumping through your veins after Benny’s impromptu visit to your room the night before. Fresh snow coated the ground outside; the lake had frozen overnight.

You dressed casually, grabbing _Wuthering Heights_ and choosing to sit on the windowsill in the living room, gazing out at the picturesque landscape surrounding Maude’s cabin. A white blanket stretched for miles, making the world so incredibly bright that it was almost blinding to look at.

You sat and you read, not realising how fast the time had gone until Maude emerged from her room. She smiled at you, heading towards the kitchen. “Coffee?”

Benny and Matt later emerged into the living room, chatting away at their plans for the day. “Happy Thanksgiving everyone,” Benny said enthusiastically, sending you a playful look. You were always stunned at how someone so wise and intelligent could look so boyish at certain moments in time—the way his eyes-widened and the grin spread across his face would make anyone think he were still just a boy.

You went back to your book, a half-drunk cup of coffee resting in your lap as you curled up on the sill. “Is there any more coffee?” Benny asked, sliding into a chair at the dining table. Matt picked up the empty pot with a smirk.

“You missed your chance,” He said, chuckling to himself mischievously.

It was quiet for another minute as your eyes slid over the book pages, but that was disturbed when Benny approached, stealing the coffee right out of your lap and depositing himself down beside you.

“Hey—,” You went to protest, but he’d already put his lips to the mug, taking a few large gulps. He handed you back the dregs, shuffling on the sill to slot his legs between the window and your thighs, and leaned back, taking in the view. “I didn’t want it anyway,” You said sarcastically.

Maude clapped from the kitchen, alerting everyone. “The lake froze over last night, so that means you guys better get your skates on,”

“Are you sure you don’t want some help prepping dinner, Maude?” You asked, but she only waved her hands at you in dismissal.

“Go skate—enjoy the ice. I’ve got everything under control.”

It wasn’t long after when the three of you were bundled up in coats and fluffy socks, penguin walking to the lake in your skates. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t incredibly excited at being able to skate. Benny, however, looked _less_ than enthused.

“We do this every year and somehow you still look like a deer in headlights, Watts!” Matt yelled, gliding onto the ice with ease. You stopped at the edge of the lake, looking back at Benny as he held onto a tree uncomfortably.

You stuck your hand out to him, cheeks flushed from the cold, sending him an encouraging smile. He paused to suck in a deep breath before taking your hand in his own, letting you guide him to the edge of the lake.

“Have you skated before?” He said, and you knew he was stalling.

“When I was younger. A friend from school was a competitive figure skater. I’d go to her practice sessions sometimes,”

“Are you any good?” He said curiously, raising his eyebrows innocently in genuine interest.

“Step on the ice with me and you’ll see,”

Benny clutched onto your arm as you took your first step onto the ice, slowly guiding forward to give him some motion. You turned to face him, holding both his hands as you skated backwards, pulling him along with you. 

“You’re already going backwards,” He huffed out, his breath curling around his face. “That’s just not fair.”

You tried not to laugh at his expense, but Matt didn’t care. He skated over with ease, hooking his arm with Benny’s and separating him from you. “I’ve got the kid, _honey_ ,” He joked, tipping Benny’s hat to see his face—he was positively enraged. “You go. I’ve got him for now,”

You smiled at Benny’s pitiful look and went off on your own, making your way around the perimeter of the small lake. You glided smoothly as you rounded the corners, telling yourself to put one skate in front of the other and not to look down.

You closed your eyes, raising your arms to your sides and feeling the cold air whoosh all around you—

That’s when you let out a _yell_ —

Screaming to the sky as the cold invigorated your lungs and body, waking you up inside and out. You picked up speed after that, lowering your centre of gravity and placing your hands behind your back, going faster and faster until you whizzed past Benny and Matt, hair whipping behind you as you let out another freeing yell.

You straightened out, glancing back at the two boys as you slowed to a smoother pace.

“How the _fuck_ are you good at _everything!_ ” Benny yelled, shaking his fists theatrically as Matt skated circles around him.

“I haven’t spent my entire life inside playing chess!” You yelled back, smiling as you approached Benny and latched onto his arm to stop. “Come on, skate with me.” You said, pulling Benny along behind you. He swapped your forearm for your hand as you both glided round a corner, sniffing as the cold air caused his nose to run.

You were patient as he got used to the skates, the ice, the motion of going forward and turning with ease.

“See? You’re a fast learner, you’ve just gotta have faith sometimes.”

“Faith is for five-year olds, and the elderly.” He said sulkily. You inhaled, a thought coming to your mind.

“You put your faith in me, though,” You said, facing forward and avoiding the stare that you knew he’d placed upon you. “Without you I probably would’ve never played chess.”

“You don’t need help with playing chess,” He began, getting into a skating rhythm with you. “You just need to realise you’re _good_ at it.”

You didn’t reply, unknowing of what to say. Instead, you focused on picking up speed. Benny winced as you zoomed forward, tugging him along behind you until he found the momentum to be back by your side.

“Is there a chess board in the cabin?” You asked suddenly. Benny’s eyes widened, and the next thing you knew his skate had caught on the ice, making him trip up immediately—

_Bringing you down on top of him._

You both fell, landing with a thud as you continued to glide while not being on skates anymore.

When you’d stopped sliding, you were practically _straddling_ the world champion, as he winced in pain at the burning cold on his fingers, his hat having been flown off his head in the crash. Your cheeks immediately flushed when he opened his eyes, staring at you as you sat on his lap.

Matt _died_ right then and there, laughing so hard he almost fell over himself.

“I— I’m _sorry_ — _fuck_ ,” You stuttered out, finding grip with your skates to try and get yourself up.

Benny only pulled you back down, keeping you in place on top of him.

“Say that again.” He said sternly.

“I’m sorry?” You let out, your eyebrows furrowed with a mixture of confusion and mass embarrassment.

“About the chess board.”

You stayed still, feeling him inhale and exhale beneath you. “I want to play.”

Benny sent you his classic smirk. You would have found it charming if you weren’t _on top_ of him.

“Then let’s play.”

The afternoon went by in a whirlwind of black and white. You played Matt first, beating him in less than two dozen moves. He didn’t look disappointed though—he’d basically accepted his defeat as soon as he’d sat down to compete against you.

“Did you win?” Maude said, rushing over to your set up on the living room floor, whipping cream in a bowl tucked beneath her arm.

“That was just a warm-up,” Matt said, sending you an admiring smile. “You haven’t even seen her at her best yet.”

You rolled your eyes at him, but you couldn’t deny that you felt _good_. It was nice to stretch your fingers and mind again, without twenty pairs of college student eyes staring down your every move. Instead, you had a world champion peering over your shoulder, trying to read your mind.

When Benny sat opposite you, your adrenaline kicked in involuntarily.

There was something about his stare when he was behind a chess board—it was almost predatorial. Benny Watts was a king with a pawn, a rook, a bishop, and _he knew_ he was. It only made him more dangerous.

You could see him kicking himself for still not figuring out your methods. He couldn’t see the story as it unfolded inside your head—neither could _you_ , until the pieces were laid out before you. It was something that just seemed to _click,_ as soon as you saw a board. It would simply come to you—and you’d know immediately where to move.

On a few occasions, you’d simply been lucky. As Benny analysed your games the more you played, you could see the cogs slowly whirring faster and faster behind his eyes. You knew that he was going to try everything to catch you out, as soon as he placed his hand over the clock starter.

“Shall we place bets this time?” He proposed. Matt raised his brows playfully.

“Ma—who do you bet on to win?”

“Oh!” Maude exclaimed from the kitchen. She fussed about, finishing what she was doing, before bounding over to the living room and sitting on the couch armrest. “We’re betting, are we?”

“You know _me_ , Maude,” Benny said, and she only sighed, as if she’d had this conversation with him hundreds of times.

“I bet on Benny to win,” Maude said, and you found yourself smiling at her with slight hurt. She raised her brow at you. “No one beats my son and gets away with it, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve been getting away with it for ten years,” Benny said smugly. Matt smacked him in the chest once, just for good measure.

“I bet on _Y/N_ , because I know she’s gonna whoop your ass,” Matt said matter-of-factly.

“Okay—ten dollars each way,” Benny said, rubbing his hands together. You rolled your eyes at him.

“You’re a _child_ , Benny Watts.”

“A child who’s about to _beat_ you.” A second of silence, and then Benny slammed his hand down on the clock—

It began.

And then it was over—

And you and Matt were ten dollars richer.

Benny didn’t sulk—he _never_ did—but you could feel the heat radiating from him as he scanned the end board for the fiftieth time. It had crossed your mind a few times that you could simply _let him win—_ but you had a feeling that would enrage him.

It was offensive, to put yourself in a position of losing, just so he could take the win. He would’ve seen through you quicker than he’d fallen over on the ice.

Matt and Maude travelled to the kitchen to finish dinner, while you stayed cross-legged, just waiting for Benny to come back to reality.

“How do you do it?” He whispered, his eyes plastered on the fallen king. “I can’t _read_ you—not like I can read Harmon or Borgov. You’re a blank piece of paper.”

You thought about telling him about the way you played—the way the story in your mind guided you to victory after victory. You hadn’t always had the ability, no—it had come with years of observation, of seeing the game played before you, of having the chance of playing taken away from you with every win your father gained.

You were nervous as to how Benny would take it. His mind worked in numbers and figures, in squares and pieces. Yours worked in narrative, an ever-evolving story happening right in front of you with every piece you moved.

You knew the methods—the plays—the gambits, the levels, the defences. That was all ingrained within you. When it came to playing, it was a reflex.

When Benny looked up at you, you crumbled inside.

His eyes were so wide, craving an explanation. You could see how much he wanted it. It broke you slightly, knowing that you’d made him question everything he knew about the game—

You wouldn’t dare tell him that was how you felt, though. That was even worse than apologising for winning; than letting him win.

“It just _comes_ to me,” You started, and he was hooked onto your every word. “It’s like an out of body experience, where the pieces know their move, and I’m simply a conduit.” You thought he’d laugh, maybe tell you what _bullshit_ that was, but his face softened. “I imagine they’re alive, the pieces—,” You pointed at his taken Bishop. “In this game, your Bishop betrayed the King. He spoke the false word of a god, and he was banished to the wastelands, where he was killed by a beggar.” You moved to point at one of your pawns still on the board—the piece that had taken his own.

Benny only listened. He didn’t tell you it was stupid, or wrong, or childish—he _cared._ You were thrown back to what Maude had said the previous evening, and you knew that no matter what, Benny would always listen to what you had to say.

“How?” He repeated. “How does it just—come to you? I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I, truthfully.”

Benny smiled. “You’re like her, like _Harmon_ ,” He uncrossed his legs, leaning against the couch. “She told me that if she looks at the ceiling, she can see the game happen right before her very eyes. She makes a board up there, and the pieces just _move._ ”

“Beth’s a World Champion for a reason,” You said, thinking back to how it’d felt when you’d heard she’d won against Borgov.

“You could be one. A World Champion.” When you looked at Benny, his eyes were already plastered on you. “You beat me over and over like it’s the easiest game of chess you’ve ever played. You beat Beth—I _wish_ you could remember it,” He smiled, remembering the game inside his head. “It was probably the best game of chess I’ve ever seen.”

You looked at your hands as an excuse not to look at him.

You weren’t used to being complimented, especially about _chess_ of all things. It felt like you weren’t in the room, like someone else was accepting all of your praise for you—

It made you feel sad.

It made you feel _angry._

And you couldn’t understand why.

“Right! Enough competitiveness,” Maude boomed. “Dinner is ready and it’s Thanksgiving, so we must eat more than we’ve eaten this entire year,”

“ _And_ drink,” Matt added, waving a bottle of red wine in the air joyously.

“And drink.” Maude repeated.

After you’d all piled your plates high, Maude grabbed Matt’s hand. “This is my favourite part,” She said, shrugging her shoulders with enthusiasm. Matt took Benny’s hand from across the table as you grabbed hold of Maude’s in your own.

Benny gave you a gentle look as he held out his hand. You took it, looking away from him quickly, ignoring the warmth spreading in your chest.

“I am a thankful for this,” Maude began, shooting everyone a smile. “I’m thankful for the food we eat, for my son and his _wildly_ handsome friend,” Benny winked at Maude; Matt immediately frowned. “And, for a new face joining us this year, and hopefully the next.” Maude shook your hand as she finished, you squeezed hers back.

Matt cleared his throat. “I am also thankful for this, for my cocky best-friend who’s in need of a shave, and for being beaten by a _brilliant_ chess player.”

“You didn’t have to mention me twice, Matthew,” Benny said, smirk stamped on his face. Matt kicked him under the table quickly.

“Right—okay,” Benny began. After seeing how he’d tried to talk sense with his feelings before, you had no idea how this was going to go. “I am thankful for—well, a lot of things, I suppose,” He said, starting to ramble. You squeezed his hand encouragingly, causing him to face you. He smiled, calming himself down. “But mostly, I’m thankful for where we are right now, and who I’m with. I’m thankful for the people I know I can count on if things ever go wrong,” He shot a smile at Maude and Matt in turn. “Or if they don’t.”

Three pairs of eyes landed on you in unison, and you felt your heart inflate under your rib cage. You had _so much_ to be thankful for, but you had no idea what to begin with. You had no idea how to put it into words.

You settled on something within your mind that you knew would make some eyes widen, but you thought that was the point.

“I’m thankful for chess,” You said, and just like you’d known, Matt and Benny’s eyebrows raised instantly. “Without it, I would have never met Benny,” You didn’t dare meet his eyes. “And without Benny, I would have never met Matt, and without Matt, Maude,” You sucked in a deep breath, forcing yourself to look up, even if it only meant staring at the wall. “Without chess, my father wouldn’t have been the man he was.”

A comfortable silence fluttered over the table.

And for once, you felt _proud_ of yourself.

“Not _bad_ , for your first Thanksgiving, y’know?” Matt spoke up jokingly. You accepted his smile with one of your own right back at him. “Now, we feast like kings.”

Matt and Maude wasted no time tucking in as you went to pick up your fork.

You didn’t even notice that Benny’s fingers were still intertwined with yours until he circled his thumb over your knuckles. Slowly, gently, one by one, dipping in and out of the groves, until he went back to the beginning again—

It was the same rhythm he’d adopted when he’d brushed his fingertips through your hair.

You glanced at him, holding your fork in one hand. He was doing the same, acting like it was normal for two people to keep holding hands for the duration of a Thanksgiving meal. You could imagine his response if you’d ever ask why he’d kept such a tight hold on you—

_“It’s a Thanksgiving tradition. Didn’t you know that?”_

You got comfort from the fact that he was obviously comfortable himself; that he intended to keep a hold on you for as long as he could, where it was a novelty, and not an intimacy.

Benny held your hand for the entire meal, only daring to separate his grasp from you when you left the table to have a cigarette outside in the fresh air.

You grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around you as the cold seeped through everything it touched—

But you hardly noticed it—

You could still feel Benny’s hand, keeping you warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's an playlist of songs that have helped inspire me to write this baby!
> 
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/7J2Fz89kAFYGKZll6KbP7E?si=gfbFAmCiRVuug6VBc2LNew


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haaaaaaaaaa this chapter killed me writing it. just as a warning. u might need a tissue or three. 
> 
> enjoy x

When you woke on the 11th of December, you’d almost forgot what day it was—your 24th birthday.

You were struck with a memory, of your 16th birthday. Your father had been invited to a charity game abroad on that very weekend. You’d had no choice in staying or going—you didn’t get to spend the day with your friends, celebrating your first pivotal birthday the way you’d wanted to.

Your mother held no remorse, _“You have next year, and the year after that. This game is good for your father.”_

Your father, however—he’d had guilt behind his eyes the entire time. You hadn’t realised just how bad he’d felt until you woke up in a hotel bed to him singing you Happy Birthday, a cupcake with a candle poking out of it cupped in his hands.

You told yourself not to cry as you sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. This was your first birthday without him; without his smile, without the crow’s feet around his eyes starting to reveal his age.

You had to take in multiple deep breaths to stop your throat from closing up. You hadn’t thought about how _difficult_ your birthday was going to be—you hadn’t even considered it a possibility of feeling emotional at his absence. And now you were paying for it.

You forced yourself to look at the lake outside, as the ice glistened beneath new flurries of snow that melted immediately upon touching its surface. You focused on the moon, still visible despite the sun being up in the sky—

The landscape calmed you immediately, tethering you to the world around, instead of the world inside your head. You dressed after a quick stretch, running a brush through your hair for the first time in a few days. It was easy to relax without inhibitions in Maude’s cabin—it was easy to just exist, day to day, without a care for anything.

It was something you could have easily got used to.

This little slice of the world; secluded and beautiful; cold yet full of life.

You left your room, shuffling on the wooden floor until you rounded into the kitchen—what met you made your heart burst—

“ _Happy birthday!”_

Maude, Benny and Matt boomed from around the table, smiles plastered on their faces. The table was topped with pancakes, waffles, fresh fruit. In the centre sat a homemade birthday cake, no doubt baked by Maude.

You simply stood as you tried not to crumble on the spot from the amount of love you felt. It filled the room to the ceiling, stuffing the furniture, the doors, the rugs, with so much light and life that if you’d died right there, you would have been happy about it.

They all came to you as you stayed, glued, to your spot, too overwhelmed to step forward. Matt encased you in a hug with Maude close on his tail. When Benny approached you, he paused before he placed his arms around your neck, bring a hand to the back of your head and gently resting it upon his chest. You embraced him back, squeezing him as you tried not to show how much your eyes were beginning to water.

“Presents!” Maude yelled theatrically, revealing a gift bag and patting the chair at the head of the table impatiently. You willed yourself to sit, gobsmacked.

“You got me presents?”

“It’s your birthday, what did you expect?” Matt laughed, as everyone took a seat themselves.

Benny stole a strawberry from one of the plates, biting into it as he huffed at your expression. “You’re acting like you expected us not to remember,”

“I just didn’t _think_ you’d all—,” You let out, but you stopped yourself. “Never mind. I’m talking drivel.”

You opened up the presents from Maude. She’d bought you a crystal glass and a bottle of gin from a local distillery. You practically hugged the bottle, your cheeks flushing. “I love gin.”

Matt gave you a _horrendous_ Christmas jumper. You opened it up, gasping as you pulled it out. On the front was a wildly misshapen Santa Claus with two dozen pom poms protruding from the fabric. You yelled with delight, shoving it over your head in excitement. You peered down at the design. “It’s so ugly—I _love_ it!”

“Is it the best worst birthday present you’ve ever got?” He said, looking proud of his horrific gift. It was the whole point, of course, and you felt warm knowing that Matt knew your sense of humour well enough to know you’d love the gift.

“By a landslide. It’s hideous. It’s perfect.”

“Just wait until you see mine,” Benny said, revealing a small package and placing it in front of you. It was neatly wrapped, just how you’d assumed Benny’s wrapping would be. You picked it up, immediately knowing what it was—

You started silently chuckling as you opened it. When you ripped open the paper, you only stared at his gift in amused disapproval—

It was a copy of _his book._ You opened up the first page and your eyes fell upon his _signature_. Beneath it, he’d written, _Follow your dreams, shoot for the stars._

You burst into laughter, snorting uncontrollably as you just about managed to turn the book so Matt could see it.

“Oh, you’re an _asshole,_ Benny.”

“I think Benny wins, Matt. I’m sorry,” You chuckled out. Matt only sighed in defeat.

“Not the first time he’s beaten me,”

“It won’t be the last, either.” Benny added, shooting his friend a fighting stare.

The day was up to you—you had dibs. When you suggested skating again, Benny’s face immediately dropped. He stayed inside, peering through the living room window as you and Matt glided across the lake, racing against each other around the perimeter and having a few new spills.

Occasionally you’d glance back at Benny, copy of _Chess Review_ in hand as he sipped at a cup of Maude’s cocoa, sitting on the windowsill.

After an hour, you felt too bad that he’d sat out. You and Matt rushed back inside, shivering from the cold, as you stripped off your snow-covered coats and boots. You looked in the entryway mirror, your cheeks, nose and ears flushed the brightest of reds.

Benny strolled over, handing you a fresh cup of cocoa. “Jesus—you look like Rudolf,” He commented, before placing his warm palms on each side of your face unexpectedly. You would have been embarrassed if the warming feeling of his hands on your sub-zero face didn’t feel so comforting.

“D’you guys wanna play some chess—,” Matt turned his head round the corner to the entryway, overseeing you and Benny. You could tell he was surprised—as if he’d intruded—but he tried his best to play it off as Benny removed his hands from your cheeks almost instantly. 

“Sure,” Benny said, glancing back at you with a questioning look. He sounded cool, despite how quickly he’d pulled away from you.

You, on the other hand, weren’t as collected.

“Yeah, just give me a second,” You said, popping your mug on the dining table as you made your way to the bathroom and locked the door.

You leant against the back of the door, trying to breathe as your heart rate spiked. You weren’t used to this kind of attention, this _intimacy,_ even if it was just platonic or friendly. Benny had slowly but surely shown himself to be someone who _wanted_ to comfort you, and with every hold of your hand or brush of your arm you could feel something bubbling within you.

You thought back to when Beth had spilled about her and Benny, how she’d spoken up so easily about his charms and his behaviour—

You didn’t know what _this_ was—

You didn’t even know if you _wanted_ anything from him, other than the friendship you already had—

But the closer Benny got to you, the stronger that warm feeling engulfed you. It was easy to hug him, to sit next to him, to laugh with him. He knew so much about you—even the things that you chose to keep _inside_ —

Benny Watts couldn’t read your mind when it came to _chess_ , but he could certainly read it when it involved anything else.

You looked at yourself in the mirror as your flushed cheeks began to fade, along with your incessant heartbeat. You inwardly told yourself to get it together, to accept that he was simply making himself known, that he did this with _all_ of his close friends. You wouldn’t let it get inside your head; you _couldn’t;_ too afraid that if you began to overthink deeper that you’d end up losing him altogether.

“Fuck,” You whispered, peering into your own reflection. “You _need_ to get laid.”

You flushed the toilet without using it, too afraid that they’d clock onto your mini breakdown over a simple hand touch to the face, before unlocking the door and heading back out to the living room.

Matt and Maude stood by the door, wrapped up in coats. “Are we going somewhere?” You asked.

“No, no, dear. We’re just running to the store. I realised we’re out of wine,” Maude replied. You shot your gaze to Benny, cross-legged on the floor of the living room.

“Well, I can help if you—,”

“Nonsense! We’ll be an hour max. There’s more cocoa on the stove.”

You didn’t have time to ask again before the front door slammed shut, silence descending on the room. You stood in the entryway for a second, before forcing yourself to walk towards the chess board set up.

Benny was setting up the pieces, a small frown on his face. You let out a sigh, moving round to sit on the floor opposite him. Neither of you spoke as he set up the board; it wasn’t awkward, but it was _tense._

You swallowed down your thoughts from the bathroom, finally laying your eyes on the world champion. His frown didn’t look _normal._ It was like he was thinking so deeply about something that it had highjacked his expression.

“Benny?” You let out, slightly concerned when he flipped over all of the pieces he’d just placed, starting to place them upright again for no reason whatsoever. “Are you okay?” You added. He finally looked up, his face gaunt and pale.

“Yeah,” He replied bluntly. That’s when you knew something was definitely wrong. You wracked your brain, trying to find the right words. You’d never had to make Benny open up before, and you were scared of saying something unhelpful.

Instead of talking, you stretched your hand out to his, grabbing it strongly. He stopped fiddling with the pieces as you gave him a concerned look. “I don’t buy it,” You said softly.

“I’m conflicted,” He opened up, his stare becoming less haunting. “I don’t know what’ll happen if I do _something_ , but I also think I should still do it.”

You had no clue what he was talking about, and you didn’t want to pry.

“If you think you should do it, then do it,” You said, retracting your hand. “Trust your judgement.”

The next words that left his mouth scared you to your core. “What if, as a consequence, I’ll hurt someone that I care about?”

You laughed nervously, trying not to assume he was talking about _you._ “Why would that ever happen? If you both care for each other?” You suggested.

At this point, you _knew_ he was talking about you. You tried to ignore the pins and needles subtly rising from the tips of your fingers; your anxiety had _spiked,_ even more so than before in the bathroom. You had no context, no clue, no idea what was going through Benny’s head, other than it involved you in some way—

That he might do something unforgivable—

Something to _hurt_ you.

You watched as he stood and turned, jogging to his room without a word. You looked to the chess board and its fallen pieces, trying not to bite your lip off at what Benny was doing. He emerged from his room, one of his hands balled into a fist as he sat back on the floor.

He didn’t speak, but some colour had returned to his cheeks.

You finally snapped, your entire unknowing façade dropping. “Benny, what’s going on? Just tell me—it can’t be this big of a deal,”

Benny’s chest rose and fell as his breaths became deeper, slower, forcing himself to hold out his hand toward you. You stuck your hand out to his, opening it below his closed fist. It was excruciating as Benny finally dropped the contents of his hand into your own—

A black King—

It was just an ordinary chess piece. You almost felt relieved, until Benny cleared his throat.

“I took it. From your father’s last game.”

You weren’t prepared for the way your body reacted. You didn’t move as you started to go numb, as the overwhelming sound of your pumping blood hit your ears, as your heartbeat overcame all of your senses to thud beneath your ribcage—

You looked to the piece in your hand—the same piece that you’d seen as the whirring of ambulance sirens had surrounded the air, as your father lay on the floor—

Dying.

“I’ve had it this entire time. I was waiting for the right time to give it to you—when I thought that you’d _healed_ or come to accept that—,”

“Accept that he’s dead?” You spoke suddenly, your stare frozen on the piece in your palm. You looked at it so intensely that it started to feel like an extension of your body; like it was sinking beneath your skin.

Benny stopped talking immediately, his Adam’s apple bobbing uncomfortably in his throat. His eyes began to well at the sight of you, frozen, numb, completely disassociated from what was actually happening—

You felt as if you’d been hammered, layer by layer by layer, with an ice pick. Like the steel blade of a knife had just cut every inch of your skin and dropped you into the Dead Sea.

You didn’t even realise you’d stood up until reality hit you like a truck; that’s when you started to shake—

Your hands, your lip, your fingers, all convulsed uncontrollably, causing your lungs to scream out in pain as your body went into shock. Your head began to feel dizzy as you ran over to the entryway, slipping on your shoes as fast as you possibly could without falling to the floor, the chess piece bruising your skin as you squeezed it in your palm.

You didn’t hear Benny’s voice yell as you opened the door, snow and cold winds rushing inside the cabin, as you wobbled outside and down the back stairs on the porch, headed for the lake.

You couldn’t feel the cold, the ice, the snow—all you could feel was the imprint of the king in your hand as the rough edge of its crown began to draw blood.

You stumbled to the lake, your throat beginning to close rapidly and your eyes beginning to well. You couldn’t see past your tears; you couldn’t feel past the weight of the tiny piece clasped within your fingers.

Your tears came like a wave, thick and fast, encompassing your cheeks with streaks of slowly freezing crystals that burned your skin. Your knees buckled, bringing you down until your legs were encased in fresh snow, winds whipping at your hair.

A hole had opened in your heart—maybe it had always been there, but you’d been too busy stuffing it with distractions for the past four months; trying to forget, praying to move on, ceasing to remember the way he smiled or the flick of his wrist when he moved to checkmate—

The sobs came in haunting bursts, as you’d try to keep them at bay until it was all too difficult; then you’d crumble, finally setting them free into the world, until you tried to stop another bout from escaping.

Every inch of your body was _screaming_ at you—

Blood curdling wails sounded from inside your head, bombarding the sides if your skull until your brain rattled beneath the surface—

Until it was simply _too much—_

_Until you broke._

You let out the largest cry you had within you, your voice reaching the highest peaks of the mountains that lay beyond the cabin. If the lake wasn’t frozen, it would have rippled under the sheer magnitude of what you were feeling; the all-encompassing darkness of knowing that he was _gone._

That he wasn’t coming back.

You’d spent so many years rejecting his life, his love, his desire to fall into every crevice of your being. You’d spent so many years resenting his world, the looks, the stares, when all you’d wanted to tell him was that he was _amazing_ —

That you admired him, _loved_ him, wanted to _be like him—_

_Wanted to play his game._

You’d never be able to tell him those thoughts, now. The weight of realisation was enough to flatten you, all the way down into the depths of the earth, somewhere that, for a moment, you thought you’d never be able to return from—

Until his knees dropped to the snow next to your crumbled frame.

Benny wrapped a coat around your shoulders as you sobbed uncontrollably, too overcome with _feeling_ than you’d ever been before.

The touch of hands on your thighs grounded you, rising you up from the pit that you’d fallen into. You looked at his face, not caring about what the fuck you looked like to him; not ashamed of finally breaking down and letting the flood gates open fully.

Tears cascaded down his cheeks elegantly, before dropping from his chin and mingling with the snow.

You found the strength to speak, but you didn’t know what would tumble out until you spoke the words—

“I gave too much of him away.” You said, not even certain if it was coherent.

“You didn’t know any better.” He replied, before he grabbed your hand. He slowly helped to unfurl your fingers, revealing the blood-stained king in your palm.

“You kept a piece of him for me, for all this time?” Tears continued to fall from your eyes, while your feet were the first thing to feel the burning cold of compressed snow—

Next were your shins, your knees, your head. Then your fingers, as they began to tinge with blue.

Benny placed his hand over yours, encasing the king. “You’re freezing.”

An impromptu chuckle escaped from your lips, despite your tear-stained cheeks. “I know.”

“We’ve gotta get you inside,” Benny said, rising up from the ground, tugging you up with him. When you stood, you looked out over the lake. It glistened, as if it had been crying with you.

Benny gently pulled on your arm, but you halted him. “Wait,” You sniffed, gaze still stuck to the horizon. “I just want to feel it,” You let out, as the bundled tears on your chin fell to the ground.

“Just this once, I want to feel it all.”

Benny looked at the horizon with you, just as the sun was beginning to set over the trees.

A wash of purple slowly filled the sky—

You breathed in, and cold air poured into your lungs— 

As your final tears froze with the snow.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the song i listened to most while writing the previous chapter is Alps by Novo Amor. it tugged on my heart strings the entire time. 
> 
> let's get back to it, shall we?
> 
> enjoy x

Exhaustion washed over you as Benny bandaged up your hand. As the cold had steadily left your body, it was replaced with a warmth that was intent on making you fall asleep at the touch of his fingers to your palm.

The king piece sat on the dining table between the two of you, blood already drying on its crown. You found you could look at it now—without the feeling of your whole body going into shock or on the brink of collapse.

Benny sighed as he tied the bandage, sitting back in his chair and not meeting your eye. You had the sudden urge to apologise, but you knew he’d only tell you there was no need. You could see guilt appear behind his eyes, thick and strong, encasing his logical brain that knew he’d done the right thing.

You cleared your throat. “Thank you,” You said. Benny looked at you then, his eyes finally letting in the light and shoving away the dark. “Like I said, you kept a piece of him for me. I’m sure that king has been burning a hole in your pocket for a long time.”

Benny chuckled softly. “Yeah, something like that.”

“I hope I didn’t scare you,” You let out. It was as much of an apology you could give without it actually being one.

“ _Scare_ me?” Benny repeated, raising his brows at you. “Y/N—you _terrified_ me,” You hadn’t been expecting such an open answer. You’d thought he’d maybe shrug, or laugh, or roll his eyes. Not this. “It was like you froze, like you weren’t here anymore. When you opened the door and rushed outside, I didn’t know what to think.”

“Neither did I,” You added, letting out a pent-up breath.

“I’m sorry,” He let out, and you heard the worry in his voice. “I didn’t _know_ —,”

“You didn’t know I would react like that,” You finished his sentence. “It wasn’t _your_ doing that made me snap in the slightest. I think this has been a long time coming.”

Benny nodded once. “I think so, too,” He reached out and grabbed the king, rubbing off some of the blood with his thumb. “I’ve seen you slowly get more comfortable talking about him, playing the game—but I’ve also seen the moments where you couldn’t stand to have thoughts of him inside your head.”

You let out a chuckle to try and hide the way your cheeks were gently flushing. You didn’t realise Benny paid this much attention to the way you acted. “If you’ve observed me this well it’s only a matter of time before you beat me at chess.”

He smirked. “I’m _working_ on it.”

You retreated to your room, chess piece in hand, after Benny saw how tired you were. You didn’t get into bed, though—you wouldn’t be able to nap with the whirlwind of thoughts pelting your mind.

You sat on the floor by the window, your eyes hitting the phone on the corner table of your room. You grabbed it swiftly, punching in a number that you’d known from memory since you were thirteen—

“Y/N?” Your mother said as soon as she picked up. She knew it was you. Your chest immediately felt tight, but after your earlier release, you knew you wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears that had begun to well once more.

“Hi, mother,” You replied, your voice coming out small and childlike compared to the usual headstrong tone you carried.

“Oh, my dear,” She knew you were crying; mothers could sense that kind of thing. “Has it sunk in?” She asked. The most you could do was nod as you felt sobs rise up from your chest. You let out a gasp, the breath catching in your throat, as you forced yourself to inhale.

“He’s really gone, isn’t he?”

As your mother’s silence drifted over the line, you knew she too had a colossal lump forming in her throat.

“Yes, baby. He’s gone.”

Mother and daughter wept together as the purple skies began to turn a dark pink. It was a moment you’d never imagined having with her, but as your tears fell you realised that it was _your fault_ —it was your fault that you couldn’t imagine ever sharing something like this with her.

You’d shut her out, the same way as with your father, but even more so after his death. You’d been so caught up with your own stability that you hadn’t even thought about what your mother was properly going through.

You felt shameful, selfish, as you cried together down the phone, but as your tears began to slow you _knew_ that you’d both be okay—

She had her sister, she had _you_.

And you had her—you had _Benny._

You stayed on the phone with her for a while. As both of you let out your sadness together, you moved onto other topics; university, New York City life, the people you’d met. You told her about Benny; how he’d introduced you to Beth Harmon. You told her about Matt and how you were at Maude’s cabin—

You told her about _playing chess_.

“Really?” Your mother said, gobsmacked.

“I never mentioned it before,” You explained. “I sort of play now.”

“Sort of?” She questioned in her usual theatrical way. It made you chuckle.

“I mean— _yes_ , I play,” You fiddled with the phone cord. “I’m sort of good.”

“ _Sort of?_ ” Your mother repeated, but you could feel her smile from the other end of the line.

“Undefeated so far, actually.”

You moved your gaze to the door as you heard the familiar sound of Benny knocking. You placed the phone to your chest, yelling that he could come in. As Benny rounded the door you continued laughing on the phone with your mother and her reactions.

“Benny’s here right now, actually, Mum—,”

“Well, let me talk to him, then.” You sent an open-mouthed stare at the champion, before you stuck the phone out in front of him.

“It’s my mother. She wants to speak with you.”

You stood as Benny took the phone with an amused smile, placing it to his ear. You paced as you listened intently to his one-sided conversation with your mother—

“No, that’s okay, Mrs. L/N,”

“I got his _note_ , yes. Y/N made sure of it,”

His stare hit your eyes as he went silent between sentences. You stopped pacing, breathing steadily as his lip curled into a gentle smile.

“Of course. It would be my pleasure.”

You didn’t have the chance to ask Benny what she’d said before he handed you back the phone and immediately left your room, clicking the door shut. You said your goodbyes to your mother. She wished you a happy birthday, not revealing anything of what they’d discussed together.

As you placed the phone down, you couldn’t stop yourself from _grinning._ It was ear to ear, encompassing your entire face. Your stomach tingled with butterflies, but they weren’t the ravenous type that made you feel sick; they were welcoming and warm. They were happy, and so were you.

Matt and Maude were back when you emerged into the living room. The three of them sat with glasses of red wine. Matt gave you a quizzical smile as you sat on the floor, pouring yourself a glass from the coffee table.

“What’s that smile for?”

You didn’t realise you’d still been beaming. “It’s been a good birthday,” You replied, taking a sip of wine.

“That’s what we like to hear,” Benny said. “No thought of the inevitability of death and getting older, then?’ He joked and you involuntarily rolled your eyes at him—it had become a habit.

“I just _knew_ you’d be someone who hates birthdays.”

“Not _all_ birthdays, just my own.” He replied. You were reminded of how shy he’d got at Monte’s on his 28th, hiding his small smile behind a clenched jaw and only giving into the shots because of the noise you’d all been making.

You glanced at the chess board on the floor, the pieces still fallen from when Benny had been thinking about your father’s chess piece. You reached out, grabbing the white king and placing it upright.

“Let’s play.” You said it with a finality that you’d never had before when it came to chess. You were usually never the one to suggest a game, yet you’d done it more than once while at the cabin.

As Benny sat opposite you and Matt rubbed his hands together in anticipation, you thought about the conversation you’d had after your breakdown—

_I think this has been a long time coming._

You’d spent four months pushing down the inevitability of bursting. The sadness, the anger, the love—all bubbling inside you as you went about, day to day, trying desperately to ignore it. You’d see the back of your father’s head in crowds and get flashes of his casket as dirt was thrown upon it—you’d hear his voice in your classes and block your ears out from fear that he would approach you, sit, and ask you about _chess._

But now—

You _wished_ , more than anything, that he could have seen you—

Sat opposite a World Champion that he’d beaten more times than anyone, except Benny, could count; about to play against him for the umpteenth time—

_And win._

-

Amanda called on Christmas day, screaming a carol down the phone as you, Matt and Benny winced. You drank eggnog for the first time in your life, almost immediately throwing it back up— “It feels like _slime_ ,” You stuttered, as Matt and Benny almost cried with laughter.

Maude made _three_ pies, all a different flavour.

You all exchanged small gifts and cards, sat around a tree that Matt and Benny had chopped down three days before the 25th.

You didn’t ponder on the fact that it was your first Christmas away from your family—without your father. Instead, you’d talked, ate and drank all day, more than you thought you’d ever done in such a short time, simply enjoying the company, the landscape, the warmth.

You’d all decided to head back to the city before New Year’s, after Amanda had yelled down the phone about wanting to go to Monte’s and ‘enter the New Year in the right way.’

On the 27th, Benny’s Beetle was packed with all your belongings once more, as everyone stood on the porch to say goodbye.

Maude encased the champion in her arms, straightening out his hat when they pulled apart. “I’ll see you next year, dear,”

“Or earlier, if Matt would let me come here whenever I wanted.” Benny said, shooting a smirk at his best friend. Matt deposited himself between him and Maude, giving Benny a glare as he turned to give his mother a kiss on the cheek.

When it was your turn, Maude took both of your hands in hers, smiling with subtle sadness. “It’s been a pleasure, Y/N. I’ll be listening intently to the radio at tournaments, just in case your name is said,”

You laughed at that, appreciating in her sweet words. “We’ll see,” You replied, encasing Maude in a hug before you made your way to the car.

You were silent for most of the drive back, as a melancholy feeling washed over you. You knew, as you crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, that you’d never forget that month spent at Maude’s cabin. You’d learned more about yourself than you’d thought possible; you’d realised that Benny’s level of care and support for you was astronomical; you’d gelled with Matt even more than you had before Thanksgiving—

You felt _loved_ , properly, actually loved.

You felt like you had a clear path of what was in front of you for the first time since leaving secondary school.

Benny dropped Matt at his apartment first. Matt waved goodbye as the Beetle trudged along the dark streets of lower Manhattan. There was a comfortable silence that flowed throughout the car, but as Benny approached your apartment block a feeling washed over you—

Sadness.

You were going to be sad, not waking up to him and Matt every morning. Not having a coffee with Maude as you looked out over the lake on another beautiful day—

_God forbid,_ you were going to _miss_ him—

Which was such a _stupid_ thought that it almost made you laugh. He lived five blocks away from you—you saw each other multiple times each week and called almost every evening.

So why did you feel so sad?

Benny put the Beetle in park, but he didn’t turn to look at you. You could see him in your peripheral vision, just sitting, staring out beyond the windshield, thoughts racing beneath his skull.

You were the same, unmoving as you wracked your brain for something to say. When you finally spoke, it was at the exact same time as him—

“Do you—,” “What did—,” You each said in unison.

“You first,” He said, finally turning to face you. You sent him back the same stare.

“What did my mum say, on the phone call on my birthday?”

Benny let out a breathy chuckle, his eyes not leaving yours. “She asked me to take care of you, if or when you need it.” He said it so easily and clearly that you almost didn’t know what to say. You thought back to his response that day— _Of course. It would be my pleasure._

For once, you embraced the warmth that began to spread in your chest. You let it run down your arms, your legs, your fingertips. You let it consume you as you kept your eyes plastered on his, a small smile curling onto your lips.

“Oh,” You chuckled out happily. It wasn’t a bad _oh._ It was one full of surprise, full of appreciation. “You go, now.”

Benny turned, placing his hand on the steering wheel and tapping it with his fingers. You knew that look—a wheel in the absence of a coffee mug. He was about to say something that he felt exposed about. You sat patiently, waiting for him to speak.

“Do you want to have dinner, before Monte’s on New Year’s Eve?” When he’d finished speaking, he looked back at you. It was the most gentle face you’d seen Benny adopt. His eyes were soft, his mouth was curled in the smallest of smiles. He didn’t look pressuring or scared—

He looked like Benny Watts. The World Champion chess player who had bombarded into your life in the saddest of circumstances, but had altered that life to be so full of light that you thought it might blind you one day.

“I’d love to.” You replied.

You didn’t look back as you made your way inside, even as you heard Benny shift gears and drive away, but you felt his stare on your back all the way to the entrance of your building. Subtle, but supportive. Not pressuring, or overly protective.

You dropped your bag on the floor as soon as you entered your apartment, your eyes immediately grazing upon the chessboard box on your windowsill. You strode forward, grabbing it and placing it on the floor in your living room. You opened the lid, grabbing your father’s board and placing it beside the clock.

You placed the pieces, all except for the black king. You plucked the king from your father’s last game from your pocket, staring at it as is gleamed back at you.

You placed it on his board, completing the full set.

You didn’t cry, or choke on your breath—

You simply smiled, as a comfortable aura settled over his board forevermore.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let's get ~sexy~ now, don't ya think?
> 
> enjoy x

Beth called on the morning of New Year’s Eve. You chatted aimlessly about the month you’d had, and about her life back in Lexington.

“It was just me and Jolene this year. It was one of the better Christmas’s I’ve had, to be honest,” She said, revealing the sweet smile on her face with her words.

You’d never asked Beth about herself and Jolene, and what the deal was, but you had a feeling it was more than a friendship. Hearing Beth talk about their history at the orphanage where they met, about how Jolene had come to her rescue before she’d flown off to Russia, gave you a warm feeling, similar to the one you got whenever Benny was there for you.

It wasn’t your place to pry, and it wasn’t like you _cared_ whether it was solely platonic or something more—love was love in your eyes. You didn’t harbour the same views that the majority of human society did when it came to who could love who. It didn’t sit well with you in the slightest.

“What’re your plans for today, then?” She chirped down the phone. Your cheeks immediately flushed at the reminder of Benny’s dinner invitation.

“Monte’s, obviously. Amanda practically demanded it,” You paused, letting out a laugh that trailed away with your thoughts. “Benny and I are having dinner at his place before we meet them there.”

When Beth went silent you knew she was grinning. You bobbed your leg anxiously as she readied herself to reply.

“Dinner?” She said playfully. “At his place? _Alone?_ ”

“Oh— _shove it_ ,” You let out immediately. Beth’s excited chuckles ran down the phone line. It was enough to make your face transform into a strawberry red. 

“Did something happen with him at the cabin?”

“No,” You replied almost instantly. You knew she wouldn’t buy it, even though it was technically true—besides the odd hand holding, face touching, late at night room calls and emotional breakdowns... “Not _really_.” You corrected.

“What does _that_ mean?” Beth questioned.

“It means—I do _not_ think of Benny Watts in that way. At all.”

“You’re good at _chess_ , Y/N, not _lying_.”

“Very funny, but I mean it.” You said, sternly this time round. Beth only chuckled again.

“Whatever you say, Y/N. But be _warned_ — Benny has a lot of feelings for someone who hardly ever shows them,” You listened to her every word as a lump formed in your throat. “If he ever acts _off_ , it’s probably because he wants to say something, but doesn’t know how to.”

“Thanks for the tip,” You said quietly, as your voice trailed off for the rest of the call.

As you got ready to go to Benny’s, Beth’s words replayed over and over in your head. You were going to have dinner with him— _alone_. There was something that made the ordeal a lot more intimate, with the added factor of Benny cooking you a meal.

It both annoyed you and heightened your nerves. You’d been alone with the champion hundreds of times; why would this be any different?

You mentally slapped yourself in the face. You were a twenty-four-year-old woman, overthinking about _dinner plans_.

You’d never been good at noticing when someone liked you; _more_ than a friend, that is. You’d always rule it out as you being irrational and taking something the wrong way, when in a lot of cases you’d found it out to be true— whoever it was had, in fact, liked you that way—

And you’d somewhat denied it, without meaning to hurt their feelings.

It was like a defence mechanism. You were so used to people wanting to get close to you because of the position your father held. Even if they couldn’t care less about chess, as soon as the words World Champion were uttered, people would always look at you differently.

With Benny being so involved in his world, you’d first thought it was merely out of respect for your father. But after that time in Maude’s cabin, a war had been raging between your head and your heart.

Your head was screaming at you that it was nothing— he was simply being friendly. He enjoyed the challenge of facing someone like you at the chess board.

Your heart, however— with every warm feeling that grew inside your chest at something he’d said or done, it _fell_ ever so slightly more for the champion.

You grabbed your tote bag, slinging it over your shoulder as you left your apartment. A small frown stayed stamped to your face as you walked the short distance to Benny’s apartment, all the while your heart pounded beneath your ribcage.

You told yourself that this was nothing, too afraid that if you started to believe it was, you’d do something _incredibly_ stupid—

Like fall in love with him.

_He’d love that, wouldn’t he?_

You paused outside the door to his basement, forcing yourself to loosen up and stop acting like a wooden board.

In your mind, you imagined a chess table. On one side you sat, hands in your lap, waiting for the clock to start. On the other sat Benny, elbows on the table, mischievous look on his face—

You couldn’t allow yourself to get any closer to him than the distance you sat opposite him at the playing table.

You _wouldn’t—_ or you’d at least _try_ to.

You knocked on the door then, and seconds later it opened. Benny’s cheeks were flushed, his hair askew, his eyes sending you some kind of plead from within. From inside, a fire alarm began to wail. “ _Fuck_ —,” Benny said, running back to the main room.

You followed him in, shutting the door on the way, until you rounded the hallway to what laid ahead.

Benny switched off the stove top, wobbling a pan to the sink and dropping it in. He turned on the faucet, drenching whatever he’d been cooking until smoke stopped pouring from the kitchen.

You held back a laugh, knowing that it would be too mean to chuckle at him trying to cook. Benny turned to you, flicking the hair out of his eyes.

“Pizza?”

The two of you sat on the floor, a large pizza box between you. You picked up a slice, taking a huge bite. You never understood the rage about pizza until you’d got to New York. There was a parlour on every block, each claiming to have the best slice the city had to offer. On many a night after Monte’s, you’d go to another joint, intent on shoving a huge slice in your mouth.

The fact you were sat on the floor eating boxed pizza made you feel more at ease. If Benny had succeeded in cooking, you would have probably sat at the table opposite each other—it would have felt more like a _date,_ than just two people hanging out.

“Did Beth call you today?” Benny asked abruptly. You almost spat out a wad of mozzarella cheese.

“Why? Did she say she did?” You said, obvious that you were hiding something. Benny sent you a furrowed brow.

“She asked me for your phone number this morning. So, did she call?” He asked it despite knowing the answer was yes from your response.

“Yeah, she did,” You let out, trying to compose yourself.

“ _Okay,_ ” Benny huffed out, putting his pizza down and sending you a quizzical stare. “Did you _talk_ about anything?” You placed your own slice down, wiping your mouth with a napkin as you desperately tried to think of a reply. All that came to mind—

“None of your business, Watts.”

Benny took a sip of his beer, still eyeing you up. “That just means you talked about _me,_ ”

You let out an annoyed huff. “What—like you don’t talk about _me_ to her, as well?”

“Of course, I talk about you,” Benny said plainly. You almost froze. “Sometimes I can’t shut up about you, truthfully.”

It was times like these that made you question your judgement. It was things like _this,_ that he revealed as easy as the fact he’d written a damn book. The way he was so clear, _so open,_ with the way he supported you, cared for you, _spoke_ about you when you weren’t in the room—

That warm feeling started winding its way through your chest.

You couldn’t stop yourself from watching as he took another bite, as his jaw clenched and unclenched. The angle that his shoulders slouched at, the way his arms were skinny at first glance, but rippled with muscles beneath the surface when you got up close. The way his necklaces dangled, and his rings shone when they hit his drab basement lighting just right—they were chess players hands. Thin fingers and large bony knuckles, with veins protruding from under his skin.

When you looked up from his hands, he was already staring at you, the most _boyish_ smirk you’d ever seen slapped across his jaw.

“Were you just checking me out?”

Your chest almost exploded, as the embarrassment wound its way up your neck until it touched the top of your ears. This was one of those questions that was the perfect set up for a _flirtatious_ retort—all of which you had no idea what they were. You didn’t usually flirt, and if you did, it was mostly unintentional. You cleared your throat, picking up your slice of pizza again, trying to find a reply that was the furthest thing _away_ from flirty.

“You wish,” You said. As it came out of your mouth you knew you’d just done the complete fucking opposite of what you’d meant to do. You’d meant to utterly dismiss him—not _egg him on._ God forbid—you’d said it _sexily._ You were ready to ram pizza crust all the way down your throat to clog your windpipe.

The way he looked at you almost killed you. His face softened, but his eyes intensified their stare. He was looking straight through you, trying to divulge all of your thoughts in a matter of seconds.

“Twenty questions,” He spoke suddenly.

“What?” Was all you managed in reply, finishing your pizza and leaning back on the miscellaneous pile of cushions that littered his floor.

“I ask you a question, then you ask me one, and so on,” He explained, and you let out a _chortle._

“Are we five-years-old, Benny?”

“ _No,_ ” He chuckled out. “I just want the opportunity to find out humiliating things about you.”

“Then _absolutely_ not—,”

“You get to do it right back at _me_ , though.”

There was probably nothing in this world that you liked more than an opportunity to embarrass the champion. You were good at giving political answers—that would be enough. You grabbed your beer, taking a few large gulps in preparation.

“Fine. You go first,” You said. Benny took no time asking his first question.

“What was your first impression of me, back in 56’?” You wracked your brain, trying to remember the first time you’d ever seen Benny fucking Watts.

“I liked your hat. My turn,” You said quickly. You had a feeling this game was going to go at a quick pace—like a game of speed chess. “Did you really think I was a player in Las Vegas?”

“Yes,” Benny said immediately. “How many times have you read my book?”

Your nostrils flared involuntarily. “Three times; cover to cover. Did you sleep with Beth Harmon?” 

Benny paused as his lips curled into a small smile. “Yes,” He spoke plainly, as his eyes landed upon yours. The ball was in his court, now that you’d brought up something more personal. “Ever had a boyfriend?”

“No,” You replied bluntly. You watched as Benny slowly squinted at you. You knew exactly what his next question was going to be, but still, you pushed on. “Ever been in love?” You said quickly, acting as if it wasn’t such a deep question.

“Once,” Benny said clearly. He didn’t look sad or remorseful—he looked ready to ask you what you knew was coming. “Have you ever had _sex_?”

You huffed at how blunt he’d said it, as a small smile appeared on his lips. It was only fair, after you’d asked him about Beth. “Yes,” You replied. You thought he’d raise his eyebrows with surprise, thinking you’d never slept with anyone before, but he didn’t. His expression stayed exactly the same, but you could see the cogs in his brain whirring. “Why did you invite me to Maude’s cabin?”

“Because I wanted to,” He replied, but this time his eyebrows furrowed. He looked at you like a puzzle that he couldn’t find the final piece to. “Are we friends, Y/N?”

For the first time since the game had begun, you were speechless. You grappled for your answer, as not to stall any longer and make him think anything different. “I— _of course._ ” Worry washed over you suddenly, making you wonder why he’d asked such a thing when you’d assumed it was obvious. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Half the time, you look surprised about me wanting to be around you. You look at me like, if you were a taken chess piece, I wouldn’t try to get a pawn to the end of the board and get you back into play,” You were thankful that it wasn’t your turn to talk yet, because you wouldn’t have known what to say. The way Benny’s eyes trickled over your face made you feel vulnerable— _exposed_.

He opened his mouth slightly, as if he was going to say something, but paused to think more about it. “Are we _just_ friends?” He said finally.

Your heart immediately tried to bombard its way up your throat.

This wasn’t simply a yes or no answer—you knew that much, which was practically _nothing_. You didn’t know what to answer to such a forward question, when all that was going through your mind was the fact that _Benny fucking Watts_ had just asked you if there was a possibility for something _more._

_More than just friends._

It was embarrassing how long it took you to put two and two together. He _liked_ you—not just platonically, it seemed, by his earlier questioning—

_Benny fucking Watts had a_ crush _on you—_

Like a five-year-old with a fancy for his intelligent classmate. It was the smoothest you’d ever seen him. As his eyes stayed glued to yours, you were reminded of what Beth had said about his _charms._ Only now did you realise what she’d meant. The way he could so easily hold your gaze without hesitation. The tilt of his head as he rested it in his hand, shooting you another smile. Benny _knew_ how to flirt, and he knew what he _wanted._

This was the first time you’d ever perceived him to be sexual, in any capacity, with his shallow and patient breaths as he waited for you to respond, knowing just how taken aback you’d be from a question so blunt.

You watched as his eyes flicked to your lips, before shooting straight back up again. It was the same look he’d given you in Monte’s on his birthday, except he was much further away, much more out in the open. You were curious as to what his reaction would be if you reciprocated that same stare, so you took the plunge—

You moved your gaze to rest upon his lips, beneath his moustache, before you shot them back up to his eyes. You watched as he _gulped­—_ his Adam’s apple bobbing with nerves. You didn’t realise you could have this _impact_ upon him; like you could snatch his breath away, or make his cheeks flush a neon pink, or have him encased in his own version of that warm feeling every time you touched.

“I don’t know,” You whispered. You thought, then and there, that that was the most genuine thing you’d ever spoken. You were somewhere, stuck in the middle, between wanting to utterly fall for him and back the fuck away. Two halves of the same mind screamed at each other with no sense of ever having relief, until a loud knock sounded from the front door.

Benny sat upright, his stare not leaving yours. You thought he’d get up and answer it without saying a word, content on just leaving this conversation to wither and die. Instead, he leant forward, clasping his fingers around your wrist and squeezing firmly. “This game isn’t over, Y/N.”

You found yourself smiling at him. It wasn’t often you saw Benny be so demanding, and knowing how deeply he felt about this hit you in the gut like a punch. A side of yourself that you weren’t used to rose to the surface, suddenly, as you found yourself leaning closer to him; so close that your noses almost touched.

You wanted to see what you could _do_ to him; how he reacted to your touch, your words, your feeling—

The same way that he’d caught you out so many times before with his own.

You chose your words wisely, knowing that this was going to be the final say of the game, at least for a while, before you could sit down alone with him once more.

You exhaled, eyes still plastered on the champion’s—

“Adjournment.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heheheheHEHEHEEHEHEH
> 
> enjoy x

It was Amanda at the door, telling Benny to hurry the fuck up so she could get to Monte’s.

“We can pick Y/N on the way,” She suggested, while out of your sight. You heard the thoughts inside Benny’s head as he wondered whether or not to tell her that you were actually with him.

“No need,” He breathed out, guiding Amanda to the main living room and going to pick up his beer. Benny pointed at you silently, as Amanda rounded the corner and came into view.

“ _Oh, Y/N!_ ” She yelled, rushing forward to encase you in a large hug. “It’s been so long—I felt like I’d lost one of my limbs when you weren’t around last month,” She slowly trailed off, as realisation hit her like a truck. You stood up with her, as Benny sent a smile your way. “ _Oh—_ was I intruding?”

“Well, _actually_ —,” Benny began, but you grabbed Amanda’s wrist, diverting her attention to you.

“Of course, not. I only arrived a couple of minutes ago,” You lied. You didn’t want the added drama of having the others know that you and Benny were, technically, on a _date._ A date on _New Year’s Eve_ , arguably one of the major days for people confessing their feelings to each other.

It was all too cliché the more you thought about it. You didn’t need people prodding you when it came to Benny, either. It was fine when Beth did it, because she knew the champion back to front—but you had a feeling not many people knew the side of Benny Watts that he’d chosen to show you wholeheartedly.

“We were just about to leave, weren’t we, Benny?” You said, sending him a stern stare. Amanda was oblivious, as Benny downed his beer and went to grab his jacket.

“Yeah.” He said bluntly. “Come on, then, ladies.”

Benny was silent the entire way to Monte’s, his hat hung low over his face. You tried to listen as Amanda chatted your ear off, but you were too focused on the back of his head. When you got the club, he perked up at the sight of the others—

Matt, Mike and Kayden were already there, a tray full of drinks in the centre of the table ready to go. You bunched up on the booth next to Matt, giving him a sideways hug as you caught up with everyone else. Mike had a girl on his arm, chatting in small, sexy whispers whenever she spoke in his ear.

The club was almost packed as it reached eleven at night. The music boomed, and once again you’d lost count at the amount you’d drank already. It didn’t matter though—everyone was in the same boat, chatting, dancing, enjoying the final evening of 1968.

Amanda rushed back from the dancefloor, taking a seat on your lap and wrapping her arms around your neck. “I just danced with three guys. I don’t know any of their names, _yet—_ but that one—,” She pointed to the dance floor, resting her gaze upon a tall, slender man with brunette hair and a chiselled jaw. “He said you were _pretty._ ”

“Pretty,” You repeated, raising your eyebrows. You glanced at him, as he shuffled on the disco floor with two others. One of his friends saw you looking and pointed your way. His eyes hit yours as he smiled, showing of a set of perfect teeth. You looked away, embarrassment flooding over your cheeks.

“You should dance with him,” Amanda said, but you were too concerned about Benny’s stare on your neck. You grabbed your cocktail, shoving the straw in your mouth and looking to the table.

“I’ve never seen you act this shy before, Y/N,” Matt spoke up. “Go bust a move. He might turn out _not_ to be a psychopath,”

“Or he _is_ one, but he’s only killing people to show you how much he loves you,” Kayden added, draping his hands over his heart and fluttering his eyelashes. You grabbed your straw and threw it at him jokingly.

“I’m good _here_ , at the table, with my _drink_ ,” You said sternly, but the rising flush on your cheeks juxtaposed your voice.

“ _Jesus_ —just fucking dance with him,” Benny let out suddenly. “Everyone can see the way you’re blushing and reeling from the attention he’s giving you—it’s fucking embarrassing.”

The table went quiet as Benny’s stare hit your face. His eyes were ice cold, his shoulders hunched over passively. His words stabbed straight through your gut, and the knife only twisted more with the stare he was giving you.

If this was a jealous Benny Watts, you didn’t _ever_ want to be around him, especially when you’d done nothing to deserve his words. 

You didn’t take his bait or do what he’d said. Instead, you got up from the table as Amanda slid to the other side of the booth. You grabbed your cigarettes from your bag and stuck one in between your teeth as you laid a glare at him.

“Guess I’ll just go fuck myself, then.” You said it right to his face, giving him an overly sweet smile, before you turned your back on the table and walked away.

Rage washed over you as you smoked outside, watching as girls in colourful flares laughed alongside boys in workers boots. They all looked so happy—it was New Year’s Eve and getting close to midnight— all while you smoked in a pissed off silence.

Benny’s words, his attitude, his _rudeness,_ swirled within you as you tried not to mutter to yourself.

You hated the thought of confrontation with _anyone,_ let alone Benny fucking Watts, but you knew your worth. You knew his words hadn’t intentionally meant to sting, but that wasn’t the point—he needed to know that you wouldn’t tolerate being spoken to that way. Whether he was jealous or just in a bad mood, or _what,_ you knew you deserved better than that.

You flicked the butt of your cigarette to the floor when you saw a girl applying a red lipstick just before the entrance to Monte’s. You approached her as she glided the pigment over her lips, pouting them in the reflection of her hand mirror afterwards.

“Could I borrow that?” You asked, scared that you’d perhaps come across creepy. She only turned to you, a drunk smile on her lips.

“The more the merrier,” She said, before she grabbed your face gently and began applying it herself. You refrained from chuckling as she applied it to your lips, concentrating on getting it perfect. When she stepped back, her eyes gleamed. “It suits you more than it suits me.”

“Nonsense,” You said, channelling Maude’s voice. “Like you said—the more the fucking merrier.”

An aura descended on you as you walked back into Monte’s. Your chin was raised, your eyebrows furrowed. You glided elegantly down the steps, feeling like a million bucks as you approached the table. Benny sat alone, apart from his hat sitting atop the table, as the others were congregated on the dance floor.

You wondered if they’d given him a time out after his impromptu outburst. You could imagine Kayden glaring at him as they all stood, shooting him a one word demand—“ _Stay._ ”

You grabbed your tote bag as Benny’s eyes washed over you, shoving your cigarettes inside as you noticed a full shot in front of where you’d been sat. You took it, throwing it back without so much as a glance at the champion. When you slammed the glass down, you finally dared to meet his eye—

“Y/N—,” He began. You cut him off by leaning on the table over him, casting him in the shadow of the multicoloured lights.

“Don’t _ever_ speak to me like that again,” You spoke it steadily, without hesitation; and it felt _good._ “If you have something to say to me, just _say_ it, instead of hiding behind passive aggressive words.”

Benny tapped his glass. “You’re right.” He said, almost immediately.

“Respect my wishes like _I_ _know_ you already do, Benny. This wasn’t fair.” You ended, standing up straight. He looked positively ashamed—you could see the same guilt behind his eyes that was there in Maude’s cabin, after he’d given you the chess piece.

He continued to tap his glass, avoiding your gaze like a scolded child. You let out a sigh through your nose, allowing yourself to ease back into something less angry. You stuck out your hand to him and he finally looked up. “Now, fucking dance with me, because you’re one of the only people here I actually want to dance with, Watts.”

He put his hand in yours as he made his way round to face you. You sent him a small smile, despite your eyes still being stern. “We’re even now,” You started. “I didn’t tell you I was moving to New York like an asshole; you said rude words to _me_ like an asshole.”

“It’s a draw.” He replied, sending you an apologetic expression. 

“For now,” You said, almost threateningly, but not in a violent kind of way—the words slipped from your mouth sensually, causing Benny’s Adam’s apple to bob involuntarily once more.

You dragged him to the disco floor, pulling him into the circle the others had made. They pretended like nothing had happened before, thankfully, as Amanda grabbed Benny’s hands and made him dance in the same rhythm as her.

Matt approached you then, bringing his mouth to your ear. “You okay?” He asked. You gave him a small smile, rolling your eyes in Benny’s direction jokingly.

“He’s just grumpy because of the _inevitability of death_ that comes alongside a New Year.”

Kayden brought drinks to the dance floor and all of you raised them to the sky as a jive began to play. Being around Amanda for so long meant you’d got used to dancing, and almost forty minutes went by in a flash of light and movement.

Mike had been sucked into a dance contest— _he couldn’t dance to save his life._

Amanda was enjoying the attention of the boys from earlier, banging her head to the beat of another lively song.

Then—the lights went down, and over an intercom—

“Everybody! Ten, nine, eight...”

You frantically tried to find Amanda, but in the sea of people flocking to the dance floor for when it hit midnight, it was almost impossible. With three seconds to go, a hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you swiftly towards them—

You could just make out his face; his eyes; his hair; his lips.

“Two, one—,”

Before you could even think, you flushed your lips against his as he reciprocated just as strongly. As the joyous yells filled Monte’s and confetti fell from the sky, you were falling deeper into his grasp. His arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as you saw stars behind your eyelids.

And when the lights came on, when the music started playing once more, when you finally pulled away from him, you were met with a stare that would have made any of his opponents jealous—

Benny Watts, exposed, out in the open, sweet to taste, looking at you like a piece he’d just moved into checkmate on the sixty-four square board he knew like the back of his hand.

“That was my next move, by the way.” He said, his voice low and raw as you felt like the only two people in the room. If that was his opening move after your earlier adjournment, you had no way of pulling back this game. It was his for the taking—

And for once, you were okay with him winning. 

Amanda came bounding up to you then, clutching onto your arm and pulling you away from the champion, utterly oblivious to what had happened between you two. “He _kissed_ me, at midnight on the dot!” She yelled happily and you mimicked her expression. “I think I’m in love,”

Benny came up to Amanda then, placing his elbow on your shoulder. “If only it was that easy,” He joked, and Amanda pouted.

“It _is_ that easy—you’re just a brick wall when it comes to romance,” She said. You felt your cheeks flush as you tried not to laugh. Benny was literally the opposite—he was caring, and kind, _maybe_ a bit of a playboy at times, but everyone was at one time or another in their lives. “God, I need a drink.” She said melodramatically, tugging on your arm to head back to the table.

Mike and his girl were necking off in the booth, totally unbothered about everyone sat around them. Kayden and Matt had resupplied drinks for all. You grabbed one before you went to sit, when Benny and Amanda snuck past you and took the last remaining booth seats.

You shot a frown at Benny. “What happened to ladies first?” For once, he was the one to roll his eyes at you. He reached forward, grabbing your waist and depositing you on his lap in the same way Amanda had sat on you before.

No one batted an eye—no one _cared._ They simply kept going on with their drunken shenanigans as you tried not to squash Benny beneath you.

You wondered if they knew; that two minutes earlier you’d stolen a kiss from him. You wondered if they’d seen it or had a feeling that something was brewing beneath the surface. Matt was the only one that gave you that impression, what with him seeing all the times Benny brushed by you at the cabin and asking you if you were okay after his venomous words, but even he didn’t make a comment about you sat atop Benny’s lap.

Benny shuffled you in his lap, causing you to turn and drape one of your arms over his shoulder, so you sat sideways. Kayden perked up then, as his eyes landed upon the two of you. “This is a headline picture if I’ve ever seen one,” He began, squinting as he made a square box with his fingers. “World Champion Watts and legacy L/N; drunk as fuck in 69’.”

“And the article will tell you _all_ about how I’ve beaten him at every game we’ve ever played,” You added, raising a toast to yourself sarcastically.

“With the addition of my _smooth charms_ at coercing her into playing the game in the first place,” Benny spoke up. You snorted.

“There was nothing _smooth_ about you dropping a board in front of me in your basement,”

“Same can be said about you _throwing up_ in my bathroom afterwards,” The table erupted into childish giggles; you had no option other than to smile yourself.

“Touché.”

Amanda stood then, almost falling on her face, but not quite. She raised a glass to the sky. “I would like to make an announcement,”

“You’re _already_ making an announcement,” Kayden interjected. She sent him a red look, and he immediately shut up.

“To all of you wonderful, _elegant_ —,” She stopped, looking down judgingly at Mike as the girl was practically _eating_ his face off. She cleared her throat, continuing anyway. “ _Beautiful_ people who sit before me, thank you for starting the New Year with my drunk self once again. _And!_ ” She added, cutting off Matt as he was about to clap. She looked down at you, her eyes going glassy. “To the newest member of our fucked up little family—this English chick, who’s softened all of our hearts, even our resident chess champion’s.” Despite her words slurring, Amanda seemed awfully proud of herself for stringing together such elaborate sentences.

You all clapped as her speech came to a close, as that warm feeling spread from your chest, not for the first time that evening.

You looked around at all of them, with their big smiling faces and their even bigger hearts. You’d never met such a mismatched group of people, who continually made their friendships work time and time again. It felt good to know you were now fully a part of their circle—their little _fucked up family_.

As you sat in that little pocket of New York City, hearing their laughs and cries and giggles, you were always still aware of the warmth of Benny’s chest as he sat beneath you—

Of the way his lips had found yours at the exact time you’d reached for his own.

The way the lights in the club had brought more than just your vision, but a clarity that you now knew to be true about his feelings—

You just hoped you wouldn’t overthink it after the sun came up.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dont hate me for this. im sorry
> 
> enjoy x

When you woke, it was the afternoon. Your head was stuffy, groggy, but not at the same level it’d been after you’d beaten Harmon at a chess board. You downed the water you’d remembered to leave yourself by your bed, as your body started to feel more alive with every drop.

You got up, making certain to check the floor for any chess champion’s lying around, when the sudden realisation of _last night_ hit you like a freight train—

_You’d kissed Benny Watts._

Or, he’d kissed you. Or you’d kissed _each other._

You remembered when Monte’s had gone dark, when he’d pulled you towards him just before the clock had struck midnight, placing his lips upon yours with a ferocity as demanding as the Sicilian Defence.

You even remembered thinking about that very morning and how you’d react after the image of the champion, face to face, lips to lips, was etched into every corner of your mind. You tried to halt the anxiety from eating you alive, but it was almost too much to bear as your heartbeat increased rapidly, making your entire body throb.

“Fuck,” You let out, trying to expel the fluttering butterflies that were bombarding the sides of your gut. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck—,”

You stopped when the shrill sound of your phone ringing blasted your ear drums. You turned to it, imagining it was on fire, blazing away and about to burn your apartment down if you didn’t pick it up—but you were also _terrified_ that you had a feeling you knew who was calling.

Nevertheless, you willed yourself to stroll over and pick it up, swallowing down your nerves as you placed it to your ear. “Hello?” You let out, hearing the coarseness of your voice.

“Wow—you sound _rough,_ ” You immediately relaxed at the sound of Matt’s voice.

“I feel it, too,” You chuckled, taking a seat on the floor and resting against the windowsill. “How’re you doing yourself?”

“This pounding headache is only a sign of the masses of fun we had last night, so I think I’ll survive,” The way his voice went silent made your stomach drop. You took in the white, static noise from the phone, just praying that he wouldn’t bring it up—“Have you spoken to Benny today?”

_Fuck._

“Uh, no. I haven’t. I just woke up, actually,” You fiddled with the phone cord, desperately trying to cling on to your logical self and not be dropped into the pit that had opened up in your gut.

“Y/N,” Matt began, half seriously, half in a comforting tone. “Are you freaking out, right now?”

“What gave you that impression?” You replied with a hint of sarcasm. Matt only chuckled gently.

“Intuition. Or, the fact that I _know_ you,” You could sense his reassuring smile from the other end of the line. It only made you want to cry, just a little bit. “What’s said on this phone call, dies at the end of it, okay?”

“Are you trying to _therapy_ me?” You let out jokingly, trying to change the tone of the call away from something deep.

“I’m trying to get you to _open up._ You’re trying to stall the inevitable.”

You paused, frowning. “The _inevitable?_ ”

“Spilling your guts on the floor after a long back and forth,” Matt replied simply.

“God—you _do_ know me, don’t you?” You raised a palm to your forehead as you took in a few deep breaths. Matt’s voice was comforting, gentle. After spending a month with him at his mother’s cabin, you knew him exponentially more and, evidently, he knew you more too.

“So—what’re you gonna do?” Matt said, and it felt like you’d been slapped. You clamped your eyes shut, trying to divulge a coherent sentence from the words that bombarded the sides of your skull.

“I’ve never had this problem before,” You let out, and Matt’s silence was an indication to continue. “I—think I _like_ him. But I also _don’t understand_ him. And now I’m talking to his _best friend_ about it,”

Matt chuckled down the line. It wasn’t insulting, it was comforting. You had a feeling he’d always been the friend to talk to about deep things in the group. You could imagine him talking to Amanda the same way that he was talking to you.

“Like I said before, what’s said on the line, dies with it.”

You took in a deep breath, before you told him _everything._ The day you met properly, your father’s note, not telling him about moving to NYC. You told him about the evening phone calls and about him inviting you to Matt’s mother’s cabin—

You told him about the chess piece, and the breakdowns, and the late-night room calls, and his promise to your mother about taking care of you, and about dinner the night before.

“This is a lot to unpack,” Matt said, but there was a hint of sarcasm in his voice. You furrowed your brows.

“You already know about all of this, don’t you?” You were ready to scream.

“Benny likes to talk when he’s drunk. He laid it all out to me, last night,” Matt said truthfully. You were grateful for his honesty, even if you were just slightly peeved about having to explain it all to him when he already knew. “I wanted you to want to say it, Y/N, before I just randomly told you I knew,”

Your face immediately softened at that. He’d been kind to wait for you.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Matt. I don’t even know who I _am_ yet, whether I want to play chess the way Benny wants me to play it, or _at all,_ even. I’ve never been very good with _feelings._ ”

“Well—I think he knows that much. Benny’s approach to women has always been like a game of speed chess, but with you...”

“With me?” You urged, wanting to know every single secret he knew about the champion.

“He’s playing the long game. He’s waiting until you get into the flow of it, I think.”

You rolled your eyes. These boys were all the same—comparing feelings to a chess board, just to make any sense of what they actually felt. It was good you knew the game back to front, because you could understand every single word.

“I can’t leave him waiting forever,”

“No, you can’t,” Matt agreed, but it wasn’t harsh or accusatory. “Benny appreciates honesty as much as he appreciates the King’s Gambit. Start there.”

You could feel just how much love Matt had for his friend. It was a nice change, compared to the way boys behaved back in England—too much toxic masculinity for anyone’s liking.

“You really care about him, don’t you?”

Matt let out a pent-up breath. “He’s like family, even if he does wear that stupid fucking knife on his hip at all times. He’s been coming to Mom’s for Thanksgiving and Christmas for over ten years. He’s a genius with a _massive_ ego—I know—but looking away from first impressions, he’s probably the most genuine friend I’ve ever had. He was there for me when my Dad passed, and I’ll never forget that.”

You went silent as Matt finally spoke about his father. You were transported back to Maude’s cabin, when she’d mentioned it to you. “I’m sorry. I never asked you about your family,”

Matt only chuckled. “It’s okay—I don’t talk about them much. You’re now part of the exclusive club that’s experienced the holidays with my Mom, though. Congratulations,”

“She’s a great mum,” You confirmed. “With an equally as great son.” You meant it.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.” Matt said, and you could hear how genuine his voice was, like he truly wanted to wish you the best year imaginable.

“Happy New Year,” You repeated, beaming down the phone.

“Call him,” He added, finally, before you heard the line go dead.

You got yourself a cup of coffee after the call, sipping at it as your body started to feel somewhat normal again. Despite the anxiety you still harboured, you couldn’t deny that Matt had been a massive help. He’d cared enough to see how _you_ were doing, after Benny having spilled everything to him the previous night.

You wondered how long Benny had been keeping all of this inside for him to suddenly let go of it all in one night.

The final week at Maude’s after your birthday had felt different. Like a switch had flicked on for _both_ of you. He’d always insisted on skating with you in that time, in taking walks around the neighbouring mountains, in starting another game of chess and chattering away about moves like you knew he loved to do.

On the final night at Maude’s cabin, you’d seriously considered knocking on his door in the middle of the night. You’d had a feeling that he wasn’t sleeping, even getting as far to your door, before you decided against it.

You wanted to slap yourself at the fact you still didn’t fully believe his feelings. Despite his borderline _confession_ , the kiss on the dance floor and the tension with dinner before, a tiny part of you still believed this had nothing to do with him liking you.

You were _scared_ , that he was getting underneath your blockade. You were _terrified_ of him knowing everything about you.

You willed yourself to pick up the phone, finally, punching in his number.

You prayed, to some imaginary god, that you wouldn’t fuck this up—

That you would find the right words.

Benny picked up immediately, not giving you time to prepare yourself before his excited voice boomed from down the phone.

“Ah she’s finally awake! I was just about to call you actually— I have _news_ ,”

You swallowed down the sick feeling in your stomach. “News?”

“A tournament in Chicago in February. Beth’s going to compete again. Thought I’d sign up just to make it more interesting, and...”

You furrowed your brows. _“And?”_ You repeated once more. You didn’t know how to make the conversation less one-sided just yet.

“I signed _you_ up, too.”

The way your gut coiled was almost excruciating. You immediately wanted to smash the phone on the floor, hammer it until the line cut off. You wanted to scream, but you couldn’t, as a rage began to overtake your anxiety from before.

You felt your walls immediately go up.

It was a _rage_ you’d never felt before.

“Why— why would you do that?” You let out, your jaw clenched to the point where your teeth were almost grinding.

Benny’s excitement faded. “It’s not a big deal, Y/N. You don’t have to compete, it’s just if you ever _wanted_ to,”

“You _know_ I don’t want to, Benny. I _told_ you—,”

“I _know_ , but—,”

“No,” You said it demandingly, dismissively, aggressively. Your blood was boiling beneath your skin. You felt _embarrassed_ , vulnerable— all because he’d put you in this position.

As your brain fired thoughts at you, dark ones began to appear from the crevices of your mind. Ones that told you he _didn’t_ like you— ones that told you he was only doing all of this because of the relationship he’d had with your _father_. You couldn’t stop them from pelting your skull.

It was too late.

“I don’t _need_ you to try and fix me. I don’t _need_ this,” You let out.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Benny voiced immediately changed.

“ _Why_ do you care so much? I don’t understand you in the slightest,” You rambled angrily. Benny’s silence as he listened only made you feel sicker, but you were too angry to notice it, nor care.

“ _Why_ do I care? Y/N— do you not see why?” You rejected the subtle softness within his words.

“It doesn’t fucking matter. You’ve crossed a line that you knew not to, but you still fucking did it—,”

“I did it because I _knew_ you wouldn’t, when everyone can see that you have an actual chance of making it—,”

_“That wasn’t your decision to make!”_ You screamed. Tears began to well in your eyes— hot, sticky tears that made you feel like a child.

Benny paused. You could hear his accelerated breaths down the phone. Still—your anger didn’t subside. You were too far gone.

“How did we go from kissing last night to this?” Benny whispered, his voice cracking with a mixture of hurt and anger.

Something harsh rose to your throat. You were so blinded by the way you felt, you didn’t even realise how it would affect him—

“It was obviously a mistake.” The words slithered venomously from your mouth.

“ _What_ — what’re you saying?” Benny stuttered.

“Last night shouldn’t have fucking happened.”

Benny let out a disgusted chuckle. It hit you right in the gut. “You still believe that _everything_ I’ve done is because of your father, don’t you?”

“Why the fuck _would_ you, unless it was because of him?” You were utterly blindsided. You couldn’t comprehend his actions anymore.

“Do I have to fucking _spell it out_?” Benny exhaled a shaky, rage fuelled breath.

He let out another disgusted chuckle, as his words finally made their way to you.

“I’m in _love_ with you.”

No warm feeling appeared in your chest as shallow breaths rose and fell. You felt nothing, other than the anger you had coursing through your veins. You felt numb and overwhelmed at the same time, too confused by his answer—

_Why would anyone love you?_

Why would _Benny fucking Watts_ love you?

“I never asked you to love me,” You stuttered out, as tears obscured your vision and your entire body throbbed. They came out smoothly—too smooth for the way you felt. They came out venomously—too venomous for the subject at hand.

“I guess not,” He whispered. It wasn’t soft or gentle— it was coarse. It was like he’d given up. “I _never_ tried to fix you. I only tried to show you what you already are.”

You stayed silent, as realisation of your words finally begun to sink in. The phone static crackled in your ear, opening a void in your heart. You began to panic immediately, as your heart tried to slither its way up your throat.

Benny let out a final, exhausted breath.

“Have a nice life, Y/N.”

“ _Benny_ —,” You spoke, as the line went dead.

His silence was deafening. His absence was agonising. As your anger began to subside, you finally realised what you’d just done.

You hadn’t just rejected him— you’d _banished_ him. You’d told him his actions, his care, his support, were nothing.

All because you couldn’t get yourself out of the box you’d trapped yourself in from the age of fifteen— all because you couldn’t understand _why_ anyone would want to be a part of your life.

_Did you really resent yourself this much?_

Did you really feel this much hatred towards yourself, so much so that you shunned any sense of someone caring? That you rejected those who wanted to know you wholeheartedly?

You’d thought you’d healed, you’d thought you’d be able to understand—

But all you understood was the grey clouds that appeared over Manhattan, as drops of rain began to pelt the pavement outside. The rain mimicked your tears as it fell, thick and fast, encasing everything in a layer of cold.

Maybe you had moved on from your father after so long, but you hadn’t moved on from the way you felt about yourself—

How inadequate you felt— ugly, despicable; a brick wall encased around you so tall that even those who tried to climb it would eventually fall to the ground below once again.

Benny had been on the precipice, so close that he was able to see you, curled on the floor in the dark, until your screams had made him tumble back down to earth.

His final words echoed through your apartment, as you stood with the phone still clasped to your ear—

_Have a nice life._

You’d just moved him into check for the final time.

And he’d finally given in—

He’d dropped his king in defeat for the last time, too tired, too _exhausted_ from giving you every piece of himself that he could fathom.

You clamped your eyes shut as you envisioned the chess table—

Benny stood, bowing at his loss, before he left you in a limbo of your own creation, as his hat faded into the distance—

You were alone.

And it was all your fault.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're approaching the end of this fic, and it's been an absolute blast. thank you all so much for the continued support. i can't describe to you how grateful i am. 
> 
> enjoy x

It was bleak, to say the least. You spent the better part of a month inside your apartment, smoking, hardly eating, not reading or sleeping or _feeling_ anything.

You’d never thought of yourself as depressed. You’d never even thought of yourself as mentally ill, but as hours turned into days, you were struck with the fact that you needed help. Mental help, emotional help—

And it was something you’d needed for a _long time_.

You never knew you could harbour so much hatred for a game that you loved so much; so much malice for a world that was so ingrained within your father; so much resentment for yourself for pushing yourself away from everyone you ever loved, and who loved you back.

You’d neglected every phone call that had rung from your line, too afraid that it _wouldn’t_ be Benny—

You missed him. More than you missed your _father_ , you thought—and that was something that scared you more than the first time you’d played chess.

You didn’t feel _haunted_ by your father, but you couldn’t deny that you felt he was around you. His presence, his aura, his intelligence and wit—you could feel it, as you slumbered in bed for days on end without saying a word to anyone.

You’d hit rock bottom. Utterly and completely.

You’d hit it so hard that sometimes you found yourself _laughing._ A maniacal, cackling laugh, where your chest would begin to hurt and your limbs would begin to shake, but no tears would push their way out of your eyes.

On some days, you willed yourself to descend the six floors to your mailbox and back up to your apartment, but you hadn’t received anything—

Until the day before the Chicago tournament. 

There was one letter, encased in a cream envelope with a wax seal at the back. You looked at it grumpily as you sat on the floor by the fire escape, lit cigarette dangling from your lips. You were about to open it when your phone rang, jolting you with adrenaline.

You stared it down, as the insatiable urge to pick it up came over you. The calls had calmed down after the first week of zero contact; probably because your friends had slowly found out what had happened.

You believed they’d resent you, perceive you differently; you didn’t reach out, nor did you accept their offers of reaching out to you. It was _easier_ that way; that was your mentality.

It was a _fucked up_ mentality, a part of you screamed, but you ignored it as best as you could—

Until you finally curled your fingers around the phone that morning, shaking as you held it to your ear, not saying anything in greeting as you readied yourself for whatever was on the other end of the line.

_“Y/N,”_ Beth breathed out. “I thought you were _dead_ —we _all_ thought you were dead.” An overwhelming warmth spread through your chest; it had been so long since you’d felt it, and all it did was remind you how much you’d fucked everything up.

You let out a shaky breath, inhaling cigarette smoke afterwards. “Not dead,” You let out, barely.

“What’re you _doing_ , Y/N?” Beth said, her voice harsher suddenly.

“Ha, that’s a good question,” You replied sadistically, but your eyes were already beginning to well. It stung as they did—you’d been so devoid of anything for almost a month, it felt strange to be feeling _anything._

“Are you okay?”

_Are you okay?_

Those three words were enough for you to breakdown, completely. You hung your head in shame as you shook uncontrollably. You _hated_ feeling this vulnerable, this exposed, but you knew that someday you’d _need_ to let go—you _need_ to get back up.

“I’m a fucking fool, Beth.” You forced out though trembling lips.

“Is this about Benny?” She said softly, and just hearing his name was enough to make you sob. It cemented the fact that they all knew—maybe not all the details, but they knew something had happened.

“Partly— but I think it’s also just about _me._ I was so _vile_. I think back to what I said to him and I don’t know how I’ll ever make up for it,” You stopped to let out a sob.

“I had a similar experience with him,” Beth began, and you clutched onto her every word. “After I lost in Paris, he asked me to come and see him, to let him help me. I rejected him—all because I wanted a fucking drink. He told me never to call him again,” She said it with disgust aimed at herself. “After months, he was the one to call me up in Russia, the morning before my game with Borgov.”

You tried to understand what she was saying, if there was any moral to her tale, but you couldn’t look past the guilt you felt.

“Y/N, when Benny sees unfulfilled potential, that’s when he _blows up_. I don’t think this is _just_ about something deeper—I think it’s because he can _see_ what you’re capable of, but you can’t.”

You listened to her soft words, finally starting to understand slightly. It was the same way that Benny never minded losing to you—he wanted you to understand your abilities for _yourself;_ he wanted you to know that you were good—

But you couldn’t look past your _father_ — you couldn’t look past the fact that you didn’t _like_ yourself. How would you ever fully accept someone else’s love if you couldn’t love yourself?

It was then that it dawned on you— It wasn’t just about the feelings, the trust, the _love_ —

It was about the fact that Benny could see something that you’d never wanted to admit to yourself—that maybe—

_You were a better chess player than your father._

“Where are you?” You asked Beth, abruptly.

“Chicago. Just arrived. I saw your name on the sign ups. Benny’s flight just left JFK.”

You were struck with an idea—

That maybe you _would_ play—maybe that would solve everything; with yourself, and the way you felt inwardly; with Benny, the way you’d hit him down so horribly when you’d been so overwhelmed.

That thought was heavily crushed by the other side of your mind, though. Your father, his name, his legacy—you’d always hated the game, not just because you’d stopped yourself from playing, but because you knew that if you _had_ played back then, everyone would think of _him—_

And they’d probably still think of him if you played, now.

While some part of you wanted to honour him by showing your gifts, the other was telling you it was _wrong—_ chess was his game, his life, his world. You couldn’t trample that down—

You _wouldn’t._

“Are you going to play?” Beth said optimistically. “I can book you a flight—I can get you a seat on the next plane—,”

“Beth,” You interrupted her with a sad finality. “Play well tomorrow.”

You hung up before she could respond, too afraid that you’d break your own heart all over again. You lit another cigarette as you felt a weight fall onto your ribs. Despite understanding, you still wouldn’t play. Despite understanding, you still had no way to show you were sorry to Benny—

You couldn’t do that to your father, after all he’d achieved. You couldn’t suddenly emerge as an equally as talented, if not _better,_ chess player. It would be like you were covering up his wins, his plays, his memory within the community.

This wouldn’t be as easy as sauntering into the Columbia Chess Club and sitting down to play—this wouldn’t be as easy as the past fights you’d had with Benny. As much as you wanted to prove to him what you were, you didn’t know _how to_.

And you had a feeling that Benny didn’t ever want to see you again.

_Have a nice life, Y/N._

How would you _ever_ have a nice life without the champion being a part of it?

You inhaled smoke as your eyes flicked back to the letter in your lap. You sniffed, wiping away your earlier tears as the lump in your throat began to subside. You ripped open the wax seal, revealing two pieces of paper, one of which was folded up. You held the first page up to your face.

Your cigarette immediately dropped from your lips as your eyes scanned the words—

It was from your father’s lawyer. It told you that, encased, was a letter written by your _father_ , addressed to _you._ There had been specific instructions not to send the letter until six months after the time of his death, assuming that it would have been _less painful_ to receive after some time.

You almost huffed at the idea of your father specifically telling his lawyer the rules to sending this letter. No matter how long passed, even after your eventual release in Maude’s cabin, the thought of him was always going to be painful.

You held your breath as you trembled, holding his letter in your hands. You thought about not reading it, but you couldn’t shove down the urge; you wanted to imagine his words in your head once more—you wanted to hear his voice, see his handwriting, and _remember_ —

You wanted to _remember_ him.

You unfolded his letter slowly, forcing yourself to breathe as you laid your eyes on the page. It was dated from 1962, around the time you’d moved out of the family home.

You bit your lip, looking at his handwriting—it was scruffy and rushed, like he’d been spilling his thoughts onto a page rapidly. You remembered the fast-paced way he’d record his chess moves during a game, how he always pretended he wasn’t left-handed, when he actually was.

You finally moved your gaze to the top of the page, ready to read his words—

_My girl,_

_I must admit that I am afraid to say this to you face to face. Not because of it being offensive, but I fear that I’ll frighten you. Forgive me for writing it like this, so bleakly. I hope by the time you receive this that we’ve already spoken about this together, but if not, then I offer you this, my dear._

_You once told me a chess move, when you were exceptionally young. I didn’t realise the significance of that moment until now; that is the only time you’ve ever spoken to me about the game._

_I’ve noticed that you’ve read all of my books, my magazines, my papers, and I wonder— do you know the game of chess back to front? I don’t doubt it, if I’m being honest, my dear. I think you know exactly how the game operates. But I fear you resent the world I am from, and I’m sorry for surrounding you with it from such a young age. I worry it may have taken up your childhood years, and I will never forgive myself for that._

_I have a feeling, my dear, if I may be so frank— that you play the game invisibly; in your minds’ eye; in a darkness that myself or your mother cannot penetrate. I want to see it, someday._

_I want to sit opposite my daughter and see the way she can put her old man into checkmate._

_All my love._

You dropped his letter to the floor.

You didn’t weep, you didn’t sob, or wail, or crumble—but you felt every bone in your body _shift._

He’d _known—_ he’d _felt_ it—your knowledge and interest in his game. He’d seen you reading, learning, progressing— _rejecting_ the game. He’d seen it all.

You didn’t know whether to cry or scream, so instead, you _laughed._ It wasn’t maniacal, it was _joyous._ It was years of not understanding, of shoving yourself so far into a corner that you thought you’d never emerge, _finally_ going away. It was the pain, the hurt, the anger, flowing out of you and through the cracks in your floorboards, all the way six storeys down, until they descended through cracks in the Manhattan soil.

You stood then, grasping his letter so tightly that it crinkled and crumpled in your palm. You could see more than just the apartment around you; you could hear the frostbitten trees outside as they brushed past one another; you could feel the scuff of a chess piece as it glided across the board to its next destination.

You had never been free before; you had merely been distracted.

But _this_ —

His words, his confession, his clear admiration toward you, and the time you’d spent trying to hide this side of you from the _only_ person that would have understood fully—

You took this as _permission—_ to play his game. Not to finish what he’d started, no; he was different from you in the way he played the game, but to flourish. To grow on your own terms, with your own play style—to follow the likes of him, Morphy, Alekhine, Watts and Harmon—

To play a game you knew you were _good_ at.

You knew _exactly_ what you needed to do, the same way you knew the story as it unfolded in your mind whenever you sat down before a chess board.

You clamped your eyes shut, seeing yourself, alone, at that chess table once more. A man came into view, young, with wise eyes and a beautiful mind. Your father sat opposite you, hovering his hand over the clock and sending you an excited smile—

A smile that told you he’d been waiting for this moment since you were eighteen years old. 

You stared back at him with a quivering smile, but furrowed brows. You wanted to show him what you could do—you wanted to show him that everything you’d learnt had been because of him.

“Ready?” He spoke.

You clasped your fingers over the crown of your king, breathing life into him as you looked your father in the eye—

“Let’s play.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the final chapter. 
> 
> Well, it's been a wild two weeks, hasn't it! I haven't written this many words in such a short amount of time before. I'm ready to take a seven year nap. Thank you to everyone who's read this from the beginning, or if you've just discovered it. I'm so grateful.
> 
> For the last time,  
> Enjoy x

Beth and Benny sat in the hotel restaurant in Chicago, neither of them having the appetite to eat breakfast. Benny stared at his coffee, utterly zoned out, while Beth looked at him pitifully.

“Benny,” She said, but the champion still didn’t look up from his mug. “It’s her decision. We can’t change that.”

“I know,” He said, but there was some venom behind his words. “She told me _all_ about her decisions,”

“That’s _enough_ ,” Beth demanded. Benny finally looked up at her, his stare lethal, but Beth’s own demeaner was enough to get him to stay quiet. “She’s had a tougher time than most, Benny. She’ll come back eventually. We just need to give her _time_ ,”

Benny stood then, leaving his coffee untouched. “I’ve run out of patience.”

Beth stayed sat while Benny walked away. She hated it when he was like this; so inside of his own head, so hateful towards something that could be fixed. Benny Watts had got his heart broken, and she knew all too well how that changed his behaviour for the worse.

A part of her wished you were here, even if you chose not to compete, but Beth also knew how guilty you felt about your own actions. Overcoming personal guilt to apologise for something self-inflicted was one of the most difficult things a person could do; it was something Beth had also experienced with Benny.

She glanced at the clock, the time was 9:47am, meaning there were just over two hours before the tournament began. Beth sighed, choosing to finish her coffee alone, while Benny Watts isolated himself away in his room before the games begun.

You didn’t sleep on the plane, too overcome with anxiety to even try. As you landed at O’Hare International Airport, you finally realised what was about to happen—

You weren’t just about to be face to face with Benny again, after all you’d said and done; you were about to compete in your _first_ chess tournament. In front of press, reviewers, other players and spectators alike, all of which _definitely_ knew your last name already.

You’d packed your father’s letter, bringing it with you as a reminder of why you were doing this. His written permission for you to play was stuffed in your bag, along with anything else you managed to throw in your suitcase, before rushing to the airport to get on the next available flight to the windy city.

By the time you made it out of the airport, you had just over an hour to make it to the hotel. You hadn’t even booked a room, too wrapped up in actually making to Chicago on time for the tournament. It didn’t matter—you could book one when you arrived, or you knew Beth would offer up hers for you stay in for the weekend.

You were excited to see her again, to _play_ her. You wanted to remember it this time, as you both sat in silence with a chess board before you. You wanted to see the way she flicked her wrist when moving a piece, the way she clicked the clock after playing, the way she _lost—_

Despite that excitement, ravenous butterflies were eating your gut at the thought of seeing Benny again.

You’d been so hurtful, so blind, so stuck in your head that you’d wholeheartedly believed his statement not to be true— _I’m in love with you._

You tried not to think about whether he still felt the same, after a month without contact. You tried not to think about whether those feelings had turned to resentment or hatred in your time apart. You tried not to think about how much you _missed_ him, with his sarcastic retorts, his soft eyes, his gentle fingers—

_“Taxi!”_ You yelled, as you stood by the rank outside O’Hare. You jumped in the first one that stopped. “The Waldorf Hotel, as fast as you can.”

Chicago traffic was up there with New York City, but you pushed on. It was going to be down to the wire, but as long as you were there for your first game, whoever you were against, you knew it would be okay.

As the taxi pulled up outside the Waldorf, you shoved money in the driver’s hands and bound out of the car immediately. You collected your suitcase, slamming the boot shut on his car and yelling a “Sorry!” as you rushed inside.

It was 11:56am; you’d made it with four minutes to spare.

You rushed to the sign up table, not even thinking about what the hell you looked like, after almost seven hours of travelling. “Y/N L/N, I’m _here_ — I’m here to sign in.”

The attendant at the table eyed you suspiciously, before his face softened. “Grandmaster L/N’s daughter?”

You paused, before you nodded proudly.

That caught the attention of some other attendants. They made their way to the table, eyes full of curiosity. You readied yourself for their questions, their praises, all the while thinking about your father’s letter—

He’d _wanted_ this. He’d wanted you to play him—

And he’d want you to do it with pride.

You tried not to feel overwhelmed as a crowd formed, as they offered their condolences, their praise, their excitement for you competing. You saw out of the corner of your eye as press joined the huddle, some speaking into recording devices and microphones, commentating what was happening currently—

“We’ve just been informed that Y/N L/N has signed in for the tournament. This is truly a special day, folks. After the tragedy where we lost Grandmaster L/N, it’s news to us that his own daughter actually plays the game herself. We’ll be keeping close tabs on her games and plays, and seeing how much of her father has rubbed off on her as a player—,”

“Beth Harmon has just emerged from the elevator, making her way into the lobby. I wonder how she’ll take it seeing another female competitor for the first time in her career—,”

You turned then, as your eyes landed upon Beth. She stood at the edge of the huddle, a small smile on her face. Her eyes were glassy; her dimples quivered. You muttered _excuse me’s_ as you made your way through the group, dropping your suitcase to the floor before you embraced her warmly.

Both of you ignored the questions, mutterings and commentaries as you did. You were too overcome with that warm feeling as she hugged you back, breathing shallowly beneath your chest. She pulled away, keeping her fingers curled in yours. “It’s about time,” She breathed out, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. “What changed your mind?”

You paused, squeezing her hands. “Everything.”

“Your first game isn’t for another hour,” Beth began, transforming into the professional chess player she was. “Go up to my room, settle down, and come back when you’re ready.” She placed her room key in your hand, shooting you a ready smile.

“Where’s Benny?” You let out, swallowing down a lump in your throat.

“About to play,” Beth explained. “Make an entrance, when it’s time.”

You made your way to her room then, dropping your suitcase to the floor as you stood. You breathed deeply a few times, trying desperately to calm your racing heart. You had less than an hour to prepare yourself to play; to prepare yourself to _see_ him.

You showered after such a stressful journey, calming yourself down as you recalled everything you knew about the game. This wasn’t the same as the Columbia Student Union, this wasn’t the same as drunk speed chess that you could barely remember—this was documented, spoken about—this would show the chess world who _you_ were.

At quarter to one, you headed downstairs. You weren’t dressed fancifully, donning only your usual flared jeans and an off the shoulder blouse, with your trusty boots to match. You waited outside the playing hall, collecting your nerves as your bones began to rattle beneath your skin.

This was it—this was _it._

You’d stashed your father’s letter in your back pocket, to have him close by you throughout your games. You glimpsed Beth, overseeing the end of Benny’s first game. His opponent, a man who didn’t look much younger than him, had sweat on his brow. You smiled slyly, knowing that it would only be moments before he resigned the game.

When he did, he stood, sticking out his hand towards Benny. Benny took it, shaking his hand firmly as an applause erupted from the spectators.

“Benny Watts beats Hamley Jenkins in a total of forty-six moves.” Someone announced, as they changed the score board. Your heart almost jumped out of your skin as you saw your name—you were up against a _boy,_ named Jackson Grand. He looked no older than thirteen in the photo, pinned to the board next to his name.

“Reset for the L/N versus Grand game.” The announcer added, and all of a sudden, a hundred pairs of eyes rested upon you. You swallowed down your nerves, walking forward into the playing hall.

Muttering began immediately, as whispers were passed from person to person.

Benny was looking at the board, his eyes scanning over your name, before he finally turned towards you. You looked him in the eye, your most apologetic expression donned. His face was void of any expression, but his eyes showed different— he was _shocked._ Too shocked to move, to speak, to engage in any kind of greeting, or screaming match, or dismissal.

A pit had opened in your stomach at the sight of him, reminding you of every caring, kind, and supportive act he’d ever done for you, or said to you. Your sour words from that phone call entered your mind then, as you got ever closer to the champion. You felt sick knowing what you’d said to him; you felt _broken_ knowing that you’d broken him. 

Beth grabbed his hand swiftly, pulling him down to sit next to her as you made your way to the chess table. You sat on the black side, crossing your legs, before Jackson sat opposite you. He stuck out his hand, and you shook it in greeting.

“I’m sorry about your father,” He said, his voice squeaking. His eyes were huge, his hair was shortly cut—he was just a child.

“Thank you.” You replied, sending him a small smile.

“Did he teach you?” Jackson added, as the attendees reset the upright replica of the chess board, ready to note down your moves as you played.

“Yes,” You said. It wasn’t the whole truth, you knew, but the way his eyes lit up at your response was enough to send shivers down your spine. You were going to feel bad beating this kid, but a part of you didn’t care, either.

As the room went silent and the clock struck 1pm, you started the clock—

After fourteen moves, Jackson was forced to resign.

You noticed Benny as he stood swiftly, striding out of the playing hall and into the lobby. Beth sent you a stare, before she followed him out calmly. You looked back towards Jackson.

He stuck out his hand in defeat, which you took graciously. “It was an honour,” He said, smiling behind sad eyes. Applause broke out, larger than it had been at Benny’s win. You stood, smiling at the faces of the spectators and press alike, before you strolled out of the hall, eyes scanning the room for a cowboy hat amongst the crowds.

“Y/N,” Beth spoke, grabbing onto your arm abruptly. You hadn’t noticed her.

“Where is—,” You began.

“He went to his room, 307.” You nodded at her, sending her a nervous smile. “Well done.” She added, and you huffed in response.

“I feel bad. He’s only a kid.”

“He’ll learn from the game you just played, believe me. Losing to a player like you is considered an achievement, not a loss.” She stated, and you were thankful for her support. You made your way to the elevators, riding up to the third floor, before winding your way down the corridor and stopping before his room—

  1. _307_.



You paused, raising your knuckles to the door. You didn’t know what you were going to say to him; how you’d ever be able to say sorry enough times to make up for the way you’d behaved. A part of you understood if he didn’t want to patch things up, if you never reached the same closeness that you’d had with him before, but even if that was the case; you had to own up to your demons.

It was the least he deserved.

You took the plunge, knocking three times, before you took a step back from his door. He didn’t answer it immediately; he didn’t answer it went you knocked again after a minute, either. You gulped down your sadness, cementing that he didn’t want to talk. It was his decision, and you had to respect it, after all you’d done.

You turned your back on his door, breathing deeply a few times, intending to go back to the lobby and find Beth—

That’s when he pulled open his door aggressively, grabbing your arm abruptly and pulling you inside without warning. He slammed it shut as you realised what was happening. You stepped back, slamming into the back of his door as he kept his grip on both of your biceps.

He was so _close_ —close enough to feel his breathing. His fingers squeezed your arms hastily, like he was afraid you’d leave at any moment. His eyes glared at you like you were his opponents King—ready to move, to strike, to beat down everyone until he could finally reach you to win the game.

“You have some nerve,” Benny whispered, finally breaking the silence. You felt your eyes begin to well.

“I—,”

“Before you speak, just tell me,” He interrupted. You watched as his face softened, as his glare turned into something much gentler. His eyes danced over your face, your chin, your lips, before they shot back up to your eyes. You saw the tug on his lips as the tiniest smug smile placed itself there. “How did it feel crushing a thirteen-year-olds soul?”

“Fantastic.” You replied, knowing that he was revisiting that day in Vegas. It felt like years ago, now, as you stood inches away from his lips. You’d still harboured so much resentment for chess back then, to the point where you didn’t reveal anything to the champion when he’d asked.

You felt miles away from the state you’d been then, just moments before your father had dropped down, dead. You realised then, that despite your words, your actions, the way your mind liked to scream things at you that weren’t true—

Maybe you’d had to hit rock bottom to get back _up_ , on the right track.

You slowly grabbed your father’s letter from your back pocket, sticking it under Benny’s nose. His eyes flicked to it, then back at you; he didn’t want to let you go; not again.

“I got it yesterday. A letter from my father,” You started, as you felt the familiar trails of tears as they fell from your eyes. “He _knew_ — or had a feeling. He wrote it after I moved out,” You sniffed out, smiling despite the tears rolling down your cheeks. “He said that one day, he hoped he’d play against me, so he could see how I moved him into checkmate.” Your voice wobbled then, as you dropped your hand from beneath Benny’s chin.

You fell onto his chest then, placing your head over his heart.

Benny’s arms moved to embrace you gently. He rested his chin above your head, squishing his cheek into your hair.

“This was never about him,” Benny let out. You tightened your grip on his shirt, stretching the fabric until your fingers started to go numb.

“I _know_. I know that now,” You replied. “I’m _sorry_ , Benny. What I said was unforgivable,” Words tumbled form your mouth like a wave, now, but you thought that wasn’t a bad thing. “I didn’t mean any of it—,”

“I know,” He said, as a small chuckle emerged from his lips. It was sad, but it was also genuine.

He pulled away from you then, looking down at your tear-stained face. Slowly, he swiped a thumb under each eye, picking up the last of your tears. “As much as I wanted to, I think you’re the only person I can’t stay mad at, Y/N.”

You swallowed then, not knowing if you had it in you to ask what you still wanted to know—did he still love you? Did he still _want_ to love you?

Because, deep down, something bubbled within your gut—

Something that resembled your own kind of love, for him. You’d felt it growing in those weeks of isolation, in that time spent without him. It was agonising, knowing that you couldn’t call him and talk like normal— knowing that you’d hurt him.

“Do you...” You began, but you stopped yourself. You were scared of both of his possible answers; whether it was a yes, or a no.

“Do I _love_ you?” Benny finished your sentence. He’d read your mind, completely. You wondered if he’d worked out how to read your chess moves, yet. You looked at him expectantly, wide-eyed. He only smiled at you. “What do you think?”

Before you could react, he bridged the gap between you. As Benny pressed his lips upon yours, you allowed that warmth to overcome all of your senses. You pushed away the darkness that had wound its way into you since you were fifteen, you rejected the horrible thoughts your mind had about yourself; you focused solely on him—

His smell, his taste, the way he kissed you with the same ferocity with which he played speed chess.

It was another ten minutes before you and Benny entered the lobby together. Your cheeks were flushed, as you tried not to fall utterly into a daydream about what had happened in his room, just minutes before.

“Hey!” Beth yelled, waving her arm in the sky to alert you from over the crowd. You both approached her, your eyes meeting the crowd she was surrounded with—

You almost burst into tears when you saw Amanda, Matt and Kayden. You broke into a run, spreading your arms open as Amanda let out a high-pitched wail, before bombarding into you at full speed. You gripped onto her like your life depended on it. “I can’t believe you’re here!” You cheered happily into her shoulder.

She pulled away, raising her brows at you. “I can’t believe you made a kid _cry,_ ” Amanda let out, causing you to look towards Beth. She bit her lip at the little white lie she’d indulged Amanda with, letting out a devious chuckle.

Benny bear hugged with Matt and Kayden, as you and Amanda drifted back to the circle.

“Beth told us yesterday that she had a feeling you might turn up, in the end,” Matt said, as you sent a curious look at your friends.

“Chess isn’t the only thing I have a sixth sense about,” Beth winked at you. You knew she’d got that feeling from your phone call with her yesterday, even if you hadn’t had the idea to come until your father’s letter. She’d rallied the troops.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Benny said, suddenly, his eyes plastered on the stats board. He let out a chuckle, turning to you. “We’re up next.”

You followed his eyeline, scanning over the _Watts versus L/N_ display. You shot a fighting stare back at him, despite the way your cheeks were blossoming with red.

Everyone took a seat in the playing hall, before you and Benny sauntered in, heading to your places opposite each other at the board. You shook his hand in yours, an aura of confidence spreading from within as you took your seats.

“I swear, if this is the first time you beat me, I’ll kill you,” You whispered out.

Benny sent you a smug smile in response. “Better get your gun ready,”

A silence descended on the hall, as everyone focused wholeheartedly on you and Benny. This was to be an interesting game— Watts against the daughter of his long-time opponent. They didn’t know about all the times you’d played him, though, and all the times you’d _won._

Benny hovered his hand over the clock starter, piercing you with his gaze.

“Ready?”

You breathed out steadily, feeling your father’s letter as it sat snugly in your back pocket once more. You made one more sweep of the room, glancing at everyone’s faces, full of anticipation—

You stopped on a spot over Benny’s shoulder. You smiled, swallowing down the tears that wanted to flow from your eyes—

Your father stood behind him, young, alive, dressed neatly in one of his favourite suits. He was there to cheer you on. He was there to see what it felt like being placed in check by you.

Your gaze struck Benny’s fiercely, as the story began to unfold in your mind—

“Let’s play.”


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone suggested i write an epilogue, and i was in no position to refuse. what a true happy ending. 
> 
> thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading. 
> 
> enjoy x

** 7 Months Later **

****

Benny let himself into your apartment, shutting the door behind him as he shrugged off his coat.

“Y/N—,”

“Quiet,” You said sternly, not even looking at him as you slouched over your desk, tapping away at your typewriter. “I’m almost done.”

Benny huffed as he slumped on the couch, hat still on his head despite being inside. You finished what you were doing, reading off your final line—

_I see him in every King, every square of the board, and that’s all I need to keep going._

You loosened the final page from the typewriter, sliding it out and holding it triumphantly for a second, before you let it drop onto a pile of another hundred completed pages. You turned to Benny, exhausted, tired, but happy.

He looked you up and down expectantly, eyes beaming. “Done?”

“Done.” You confirmed. Before you had time to sigh, he’d jumped up, grabbing you from the desk chair and kissing you hastily. You let yourself fall into his touch, savouring every kiss he gave you like it was fuel. He pulled away, tucking stray pieces of unbrushed hair behind your ears.

“I always knew you’d be a writer, but if I’d known your first book was going to be about _chess,_ I would have edited my own a bit more precisely,” He smirked at you in congratulations. You could feel how proud he was of you, just from the way he looked at you.

“I don’t know how I had it in me, to be honest. Winning the US Championships this year was enough to make me want to sleep for twelve years,” You finally sighed, dragging your feet over to your bed. You jumped onto it, curling into a ball as Benny sat on the edge. He placed a reassuring hand on your ankle, circling his thumb over your skin.

You still didn’t know how you’d managed to get him, all to yourself.

“Russia will make you want to be cryogenically frozen, then,” Benny let out. After you’d won the championships, you’d forgot that secured you a place in Russia, against the best of the best. It was where your father had secured World Champion—it was where Benny and Beth had competed, too.

It was _a lot._

But secretly, despite your exhaustion, you knew you were going to give it your all. Now that the book was done, you had time to relax and train before flying over in a few months. Your mother and Benny were coming with you.

“Cup of tea?” Benny asked, flicking his eyes over you warmly. You smiled smally, your eyelids beginning to droop.

“Yes, please.” You let out, as Benny raised from the bed and headed for the kitchen. You forced yourself up once more, rubbing your eyes harshly. You blinked stars out of your eyes, as you made your way back to the desk.

You couldn’t help but smile at the manuscript that laid before you—

_Adjournment_ by Y/N L/N.

It was a mixture of many genres—your biography, your father’s autobiography and chess tactics laced within. It was a labour of love, taking you three months to complete on top of your end of first year university work, competing in tournaments and the US Championships and somehow holding down a relationship with someone you never thought you’d be able to have—

_Benny fucking Watts._

He’d been nothing but caring and supportive, helping you balance everything and keeping you fed and hydrated. Somewhere deep down, you still felt you didn’t fully deserve him, but you were learning—and he was helping you realise your true worth.

You stacked the pages neatly, sliding them into a manila envelope and scribbling down the address of the publishing company that had approached you for the book deal. You stuck the envelope down, sealing it tight.

“I still don’t understand one thing,” Benny spoke up from the kitchen. He added a splash of milk to one mug, opting to have coffee for himself. If Benny were a drink, he’d be a bitter black coffee—raw and coarse, but warming and familiar. He sauntered over as you leant against the desk, handing over your tea. “Why call it _Adjournment_?”

You sent him a small smile, taking a warming sip of tea. “It’s a metaphor,” You let out, and Benny rolled his eyes to oblivion.

“You can take the girl out of England, but not the English out of the girl,” He joked.

“ _Woman,”_ You replied, raising your eyebrows.

“Sorry— _beautiful_ woman. That’s what I meant to say,” He sidled up to you, snaking an arm around your waist. You breathed him in, getting a whiff of coffee and his cologne. It was a smell that you never wanted to be without.

“Adjournment is postponed play, a _break,”_ You began, trying to find the right words. “That’s what I did with myself—with what I really wanted. I put it on hold, too scared to accept that this was what I wanted to do, too trapped inside a box I put myself in. I did it with my father, with _you,”_ Benny regarded you sullenly, remembering that month of no contact. You knew soon after reuniting just how much it had pained him.

“I called an adjournment on my own life.” You let out, as Benny’s eyes floated over you in recognition.

“It’s perfect.” He beamed at you, no hint of smugness on his face for once. It was only one of many tells that showed you just how much he adored you—loved you. “Also, you don’t have to come, but Beth and Jolene are in the city—,”

“They _what_?” You interrupted, smiling excitedly suddenly.

“They’re at Kayden’s right now. I think they’re all heading to Monte’s later,” He smiled at your excited expression, looking at you like a piece of gold.

“Of course, I’m coming,” You said, as you began to rush around your apartment and planned what to wear.

“If you need to rest, that’s okay though—,”

“Oh, _please._ I can deal with being tired, Watts,” You turned to him, sending him a smirk. “What I _can’t_ deal with is missing meeting Jolene for the first time, or for _not_ celebrating the fact I just wrote a fucking book.”

The corners of his mouth turned up smally, as his face squished into something so _cute_ that it almost made you let out a groan.

“That’s my girl,” He whispered.

You and Benny left the apartment a few hours later. You’d had a coffee as well, waking yourself up a little as the excited buzz hit you. You approached the mailbox, manuscript in hand, as Benny flipped open the letterbox.

“What if they don’t like it?” You said, practically bouncing on the spot.

“They’re gonna love it,” Benny reassured. You breathed out slowly as you slot the script through the letterbox, gripping onto it in a silent prayer, before you dropped it into the mailbox. You let out a squeal, jumping up and down to expel your adrenaline.

Benny came forward, giving you a peck on the forehead and gripping you tightly. “I’m so proud of you.” He muttered, and you grabbed his hand as the two of you made your way further down the street, headed for Monte’s.

Amanda screamed as soon as she saw you, bounding her way over to meet you before you’d even made it to the table. “Did you send it?” She questioned. You nodded quickly, not even bothering to stop the grin that grew on your face.

She yelled again, almost deafening you, before she rushed you over to the table, her hand clutching yours. “She’s an author! An _author!_ ”

Everyone took their seats, muttering warm congratulations at you. Kayden placed a beer in front of you, as your eyes finally landed upon Beth and Jolene—

“Oh my _god_ —,” You said suddenly, reaching out to grab Jolene’s hand. She sent you a smile back, big and wide and beautiful, squeezing your fingers in her own. “It’s so amazing to finally meet you,” You let out. You’d only ever been acquainted with Jolene on the phone, but you’d had some stellar conversations.

She was even more beautiful than you’d imagined.

“You too, Hunny,” She replied. Her eyes sparkled at you. Beth grabbed onto Jolene’s arm affectionately, as the two of them leaned into each other.

“Right—a toast,” Benny said. He stood, raising his beer to the sky as everyone else reciprocated. You looked round at all of their faces. Kayden, Amanda, Matt, with their beaming smiles. Mike, Beth and Jolene with their kind eyes—

Benny— Benny was simply perfect.

“To the _third_ World Champion chess player in our group—,”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t jinx it,” You spoke up, rolling your eyes at him.

“Fine,” He let out, sulkily. “To the English major, turned chess player, turned _author,_ and _soon to be_ World Champion—,” He raised his glass higher, and everyone followed his lead as you felt your cheeks begin to flush a neon red. Benny glanced at you, soaking your soul into his own body. “Our dear friend.”

As everyone cheered and clinked glasses, the strangest sensation came over you—this was _your life._ These were _your friends._

It was a life you’d never thought you’d actually attain—

It was life your father would be proud of—

It was a life you weren’t going to adjourn anymore.


End file.
